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THE 

ELEMENTS 

OF 

ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 



By DAYID'^IRVING, LL.D. 



A NEW EDITION. 



PllINTED FOR RICHARD PHILLIPS, 

NO. 6, BRIDGE-STREET, BLACKFRIARS; 
By J, AdlarJ, Duke-ftreet, Smitlifield. 

1809. 
(Price 7s. 6d. hound and lettered,) 



PREFACE. 



JL HE work now presented to the public is chiefly 
intended for the perusal of those whose critical studies 
are yet in their commencement. To younger students, 
and to such as have not access to more extensive works^ 
it may perhaps convey some useful instruction : it is 
not intruded upon those who are already conversant in 
pohte literature. Should it be found a suitable intro- 
duction to this liberal study, the compiler wall have at- - 
tained the summit of his ambition. 

Though it was my principal object to treat of prose 
composition, yet a few observations on poetry inci- 
dentally occur. The remarks which have been sug- 
gested with regard to the nature of figurative language, 
apply equally to prose and to poetry : but the poets 
have furnished me with the most copious and beau- 
tiful illustrations. 

The rules of criticism are more successfully incul- 
cated by particular examples than by general pre- 
cepts. I have therefore endeavoured to collect abun- 
dance of apposite quotations, in order to illustrate 
every branch of the subject. In many instances this 
was an easy task : but in the classification of the dif- 
ferent characters of style, it was attended with the ut- 
most difficulty. To refer the compositions of an au- 
thor to a particular class, and produce examples from 
them in support of this decision, will always be found 

a hazardous 



IV PREFACE, 

a hazardous attempt. Of this circumstance Cicero 
and Quintilian seem to have been sufficiently aware. In 
treating of the general character of a writer's style, 
they content themselves with referring to the body of 
his works, in confirmation of their sentence. To such 
exemplifications as occur in the following treatise, 
they have never had recourse. 

Without pretending to question the propriety of their- 
Hiethod, it may be presumed that to the class of rea- 
ders for whose perusal these Eleynejifs of English Com- 
positidn are chiefly intended, a different mode of pro- 
cedure may perhaps be attended with some advan-' 
tage. It is of importance for the student to be in some 
measure acquainted with the style of every author of 
eminence. The variety of examples exhibited in the 
course of the work will, at least in this view, be found 
acceptable. Should they fail in their primary design, 
they may thus be rendered subservient to another pur- 
pose. 

To illustrate the progressive improvement of English 
composition, I have subjoined a variety of quotations 
from eminent authors. They are arranged nearly ac- 
cording to the priority of publication in the works 
from which they are selected. This selection com- 
mences Avhere that of Dr. Johnson closes. It includes 
the most distinguished writers of our own times, except 
those who still live to enjoy the reputation which their 
talents have secured. 

The volume concludes with a few miscellaneous 
observations on epistolary composition. To be able 
to maintain a friendly correspondence with propriety 
and elegance is assuredly a very desirable accom- 
plishment. 



PREFACE. V 

plisliment. This branch of composition ought therefore 
to be assiduously cultivated, especially by every 
younger student. 

It may perhaps be alleged that in my critical 
strictures I have often betrayed too much severity of 
censure, and that in general I have been too solicitous 
to expose the faults of eminent writers. But let it be 
remembered, that in a work of this kind it was neces- 
sary to expose defects, as well as to extol beauties. 
Those errors which have received the sanction of 
great names are always dangerous ; as they frequently, 
become the object of absurd imitation. 

" Je sais," says Condillac on a like occasion, *' qu' on 
trouvera mes critiques bien severes 5 et que la plupart 
des passages que je blame ne manqueront pas de de- 
fenseurs. L'art d'ecrire est un champ de disputes, 
parce qu*au lieu d'en chercher les principes dans le 
caractere des pensees, nous les prenons dans notre 
gout ; c'est-a-dire, dans nos habitudes de sentir, de 
voir, et de juger ; habitudes qui varient suivant le 
temperament des personnesjleur condition, et leur age." 

ToAvards living merit I am unconscious of having 
been guilty of the slightest instance of disrespect. If 
I have occasionally taken the liberty of pointing out a 
few trivial errors, this circumstance can afford no rea- 
sonable cause of offence. In exhibiting examples of 
the faults, as well as of the beauties, of composition, 
I liave invariably had recourse to such works as seemed 
in some respect entitled to praise. If I have not 
treated living authors with all the delicacy and ten- 
derness recommended by St. Real, I have at least re- 
frained from every wanton attack. 

In 



VI PREFACE. 

In the following pages the reader need not expect 
to discover any originality of observation : I desire to 
be regarded in no other light than that of a mere com- 
piler. Concerning every critical subject which has 
fallen under my review, I have endeavoured to collect 
the most rational opinions of writers distinguished for 
their learning and judgment. For any valuable in- 
struction Avhich this compilation may exhibit, the 
reader is principally indebted to Dr. Blair's Lectures on 
Rhetoric y Dr. Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric, Lord 
Kames's Elements of Criticism, Bishop Lowth's Intro- 
duction to English Grammar, Mr. Melmotlj's Letters 
of Fitzosborne, and Dr. George Gregory's Letters on 
Literature and Composition. To other occasional 
sources of information I have been careful to make the 
proper references: but when I availed myself of the 
treasures amassed by these excellent writers, I forbore 
to quote their names ; *' not that I might appropriate 
their labours or usurp their honours, but. that I might 
spare a perpetual repetition by one general acknow« 
iedsement.'" 



CONTENTS. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAP. I. 

Page 

Introduction , . • • • I 

CHAP. ir. 

Ofpuriti/ of style . • • • 5 

I. Grammatical errors ... 8 

1. Grammatical errors in the use of pronouns 9 

2. Grammatical errors in the use cf verbs 12 

3. Gra7nmatical errors in the use of participles 15 

4. Grammatical errors in the use of ad^'ectives 17 

5. Gra?Jimatical errors in the use of negative 

and disjunctive participles , 1 8 

II. Foreign idioms . . . 19 

III. Nezv and obsolete words , . 22 

CHAP. III. 

Ofpropiiety of style . , « , 24 

CHAP, IV. 

Of precision of style . . . • 28 

CHAP. V. 

Of synonymous ivords . . • i 33 



Vill CONTENTS, 

Page 
CHAP. VL 

Of the structure of sentences , . . 40 

CHAP. VII. 

Of clearness and precision in the structure of sentences 46 

CHAP. IX. 
Of unity in the structure of sentences . " » 59 

CHAP.X. 

Of strength in the structure of sentences . 68 

CHAP. XI. 

Bf harmony in the stiizcture of sentences • 8^ 

CHAP. XII. 

Of figurative language in general « . ] 06 

CHAP. XIII. 

Of personification , . . I 110 

CHAP. XIV, 
Of apostrophe . . , I 124 

CHAP. XV. 

Of hyperbole , . , . . 126 

CHAP. XVI. 

Of comparison . . . , 130 

CHAP. XVII. 

Of metaphor » • » , , H5 

CHAP.XVIIT. 

Of allegory , , » s » ] 62 



CONTENTS. IX 

Page 
CHAP. XIX. 

Of the concise and the diffuse style . . 166 

CHAP. XX. 

Of the nervous and the feeble style . , 174, 

CHAP. XXI. 
Of the fehetnent style , . , , 185 

CHAP. xxn. 

Of the plain styU . . . . 188 

CHAP. XXITI. 
Of the neat style . . . , 193 

CHAP. :^xiv. 
Of the graceful style . . . , 19J 

CHAP, XXV. 

Of the florid style . . . « 201 

CHAP. XXVI. 

Of the simple and affected style , , 20^ 

CHAP. XXVII. 

Critical examination of a passage in the toritings of 

Addison . . . , 219 

CHAP. XXVIII. 

Critical examination of a passage in the writings nfSn}ift 23© 

CHAP. XXIX. 

Critical examination of a passage in the zurithigs of 

Harris . , . , , 23 S 



X CONTENTS. 

Page. 
CHAP. XXX. 

Critical examination of a passage in the ivritings of 

Robertson , . . . 245 

CHAP. XXXI. 

Of the method of attaining a good style . 254 

Examples illustrative of the progressive improvement of 

English composition . • ^ 259 

Observations on epistolary co2npositio7i . 306 



BY THE iAME AUTHOR, 

Z»t$h/ puhliihed, price 8#» in lmrd»f 

MEMOIRS 

LIFE AND WRITINGS 

or 
GEORGE BUCHANAN. 



ELEMENTS 

OF 

ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 



CHAP. L— Introduction. 

rpHE great and important object of language is, to 
express the various wants and affections of those 
by whom it is spoken. In the earlier stages of civil 
society, man is contented with such comforts as are 
easily procured, and the operations of the human mind 
are circumscribed within narrow limits. His vocabulary 
is consequently scanty, though, at the same time, it may 
be fully adequate to every purpose to which it is ap- 
plied. But as luxury and refinement advance in their 
gradual progress, the language of the community be- 
comes more copious and elegant : it not only oversteps 
its ancient boundaries, but hastens to lay aside its an- 
cient rudeness and barbarism. Material improvements, 
however, cannot be introduced by any sudden exer- 
tion ; they must be the result of that experience which 
a length of time only can bestow. 

Before the elegancies of literature can lay claim to 
any considerable share of attention, a spirit of general 
improvement must have begun to pervade the state. 
Accordingly we find that vigour and originality of 
thought have always preceded beauty and accuracy of 
expression. In the first efforts of untutored genius, the 
harmony of periods is little regarded : such words as most 
readily occur to the recollection of the writer, are almost 
indiscriminately adopted ; and these are generally ar- 
ranged without much attention to elegance or propriety. 

Thus, if we take a retrospective view of English lite- 
rature 



2 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 

rature at no very remote period, we shall often find the 
beauty of the thought obscured by the meanness of the 
expression. Its pages are frequently deformed with 
uncouthness and vulgarity. Nor is it altogether un- 
tainted with these faults in its present state. 

Propriety and beauty of style seem often to have 
been considered l)eneath the attention both of an author 
and a reader. The ancients, howeyer, regarded this 
subject in a different point of view : to be skilled in 
their native tongue, was esteemed among the number 
of the politest accomplishments. Julius Caesar, who 
was not only a great warrior, but also a man of fashion, 
was desirous of adding this accomplishment to his other 
shining qualities : and we are informed that he studied 
the language of his own country with much application, 
as we are sure he possessed it in the highest degree of 
purity and elegance. The literary world cannot suf- 
ficiently regret that the treatise- which he wrote upon 
this subject, has perished along with many other valu- 
able works of the same age. But although we are 
deprived of the benefit of his observations, we are hap- 
pily in possession of an illustrious instance of their 
effects ; and his own Commentaries will ever remain as 
the brightest exemplar not only of true generalship, but 
also of fine writing. He published them, indeed, only 
as materials for the use of those who might be disposed 
to enlarge upon that remarkable period of the Roman 
history : yet the purity and gracefulness of his style 
ai^ such, that no judicious writer afterwards dared to 
attempt the same subject. Cicero frequently mentions 
it as a very high encomium, that the celebrated Roman 
orators possessed the elegance of their native lan- 
guage. He introduces Bmtus declaring that he should 
prefer the honour of being esteemed the great master 
and impro^ 3r of Roman eloquence, even to the glory 
of many triumphs.' 

I Beauty 



INTRODUCTION. O 

Beauty of composition tends to heighten the native 
charms of truth ; it therefore ought never to be regard- 
^ ed as an object of small importance. — But it may be 
alleged that truth requires not the foreign aid of orna- 
ment. It is not indeed necessary that she should be 
exhibited in a glaring habit ; but she ought certainly to 
be clothed with decency and propriety. A beautiful 
woman, in careless and sordid apparel, can never ap- 
pear to great advantage. 

To Locke, Cudworth, Clarke, and Butler, philoso- 
phy owes the most serious obligations : but would those 
great authors have diminished the utility of their literary 
labours by employing more smooth and polished lan- 
guage ? Never, indeed, does the force of reason more 
effectually subdue the human mind than when she is 
supported by the powerful assistance of manly elo- 
quence ; as, on the contrary, the most legitimate argu- 
ments may be rendered unavailing by being attended 
with a feeble and unanimated expression. There is as 
much difference between comprehending a thought 
clothed in the language of Cicero, and that of an ordi- 
nary writer, as there is between viewing an object by 
the liglit of the sun and by the light of a taper. 

Malebranche has assuredly fallen into a very strange 
conceit when he insinuates, that the pleasure arising 
from the perusal of a beautiful composition is of a cri- 
minal nature, and has its source in the weakness and 
effeminacy of the human mind. That man must pos- 
sess a very uncommon severity of temper, who can find 
, any thing to condemn in the practice of embeUishing 
truth with additional charms, and winning the heart by 
captivating the ear j in uniting roses with the thorns of 
B science. 



4 INTR0DUCTT02?. 

science, and joining pleasure with instruction. The 
mind is delighted with a fine st3-le, upon the same 
principle that it prefers regularity to confusion, and 
beauty to deformity. A taste for the beauties of com- 
position is so far from being a mark of any depravity 
of our nature, that I should rather be inclined to con- 
sider it as an evidence of the moral rectitude of our 
mental constitution, since it furnishes a direct proof 
that we retain some relish of order and harmony. 

No object has ever appeared of greater importance 
to wise men, than to tincture the young and suscep- 
tible mind with an early relish for the pleasures of 
taste. Easy in general is the transition from the pur- 
suit >of these to the discharge of the higher and more 
important duties of human life. Sanguine hopes may 
be entertained of those whose minds have this liberal 
and elegant turn. It is favourable to the growth of 
many virtues : whereas, to be devoid of taste for the 
fine arts, is justly regarded as an unpromising symptom 
in youth, and raises suspicions of their being prone to 
low gratifications, or destined to drudge in the more 
vulgar and illiberal pursuits of life. There are few 
good dispositions of any kind with which the improve- 
ment of this faculty is not in some degree connected. 
A cultivated taste increases sensibility to all the tender 
and humane passions, by giving them frequent exer- 
cise ; while, on the other hand, it tends to weaken the 
moi^ vioitnt and fierce emotions, by exciting in us a 
lively sen e of decorum. 

P rom these observations it will appear that the charge 
of Malcbranche is not only ill-founded, but absolutely 
ridiculous. One would however be apt to suspect that 

certain 



^ 



PURITY OF STYLE. 3 

certain writers among us had considered the subject in 
the same gloomy point of view ; or at least that they 
had studiously avoided every refinement in style, as 
unbecoming a lover of truth and wisdom. Their sen- 
timents are debased by the lowest expressions : they 
seem condemned to the curse of creeping upon the 
ground all the days of their life. 

But there is another extreme, which ought also to be 
carefully avoided. Language may be too pompous, 
as well as too mean. Some authors mistake pomp for 
dignity ; and with the view of raising their expressions 
above vulgar language, elevate them above common 
apprehension. They seem to consider it as a mark of 
their genius, that it requires some ingenuity to discover 
their meaning, but when their meaning is discovered, 
it seldom repays the labour of the search. 



CHAR IL 

OF PURITY OF STYLE, 

CTYLE has been defined to be the peculiar manner 
in which a man expresses his conceptions through 
the medium of language. It differs from mere lan- 
guage or words. Though the words which an author 
employs, be unexceptionable, yet his style may be 
chargeable with great faults ; it may be dry, stiff, 
feeble, affected. The stylcv of an author is always 
intimately connected with his manner of thinking : it 
is a picture of the ideas which arise in his mind, and of 
the manner in which they do arise. Hence the diffi- 
culty 



6 PURITY OF STYLE. 

cult}" of draAving an exact line of separation between 
the style and the sentiment. 

All that can be required of language is to convey 
our ideas clearly to the mind of others, and, at the 
same time, to clothe them in an advantageous dress. The 
two general heads of perspicuity and ornament, there- 
fore, comprehend all the qualities of a good style. 
Perspicuity demands our chief care ; for,' without this 
quality, the richest ornaments of language only glim- 
mer through the dark ; and puzzle, instead of pleasing, 
the reader. An author's meaning ought always to be 
obvious, even to the most careless and inattentive 
reader ; so that it ma}'- strike his mind, as the light 
©f the sun strikes our eyes, though the}^ are not di- 
rected towards it. We must study, not only that every 
reader may understand us, but that it shall be impos- 
sible for him not to understand us. If we are obliged 
to follow a writer with much care, to pause, and to 
read over his sentences a second time, in order to com- 
prehend them fully, he will never please us long. 
Mankind are too indolent to relish so much labour. 
They may pretend to admire the author's depth, after 
they have discovered his meaning ; but they will sel- 
dom be inclined to bestow upon his work a second 
perusaL 

. In treating of perspicuity of style, it will be proper, 
in the first place, to direct our attention to single words 
and phrases, and afterwards to the construction of sen- 
tences. 

Perspicuity, considered with respect to words and 
phraseS; requires the qualities of pm*ity, propriety, and 
precision. The two first of these are often confounded 

with 



rCTRlTY OF STYLE, 7 

With each other; and, indeed, they are very nearly 
alhed. A distinction, however, obtains between them. 
Purity of style consists in the use of such words, and 
such constructions, as belong to the idiom of the lan- 
guage which we use ; in opposition to words and 
phrases which are imported from other languages, or 
that are obsolete, or new-coined, or used without pro- 
per authority. Propriety of style consists in the selec- 
tion of such words, as the best and most established 
usage has appropriated to those ideas which we em- 
ploj^ them to express. It implies the correct and 
happy application of them, according to that usage, 
in opposition to vulgarisms, or low expressions ; and 
to v/ords and phrases that would be less significant of 
the ideas which we intend to convej^. Style may be 
pure, that is, it may be strictly English, without Sco- 
ticisms or Gallicisms, or ungrammatical and unwar- 
ranted expressions of any kind, and may nevertheless 
be deficient in propriety. The words may be unskil-- 
full}^ chosen, not adapted to the subject, nor fully ex- 
pressive of the author's sentiments. He may have 
taken his words and phrases from the general mass of 
the English language ; but his selection may happen 
to be injudicious. 

Purity may justly be denominated grammatical truth. 
It consists in the conformity of the expression to the 
sentiment which the writer intends to convey ; as mo- 
ral truth consists in the conformity of the sentiment 
intended to be conveyed, to the sentiment actually en- 
tertained ; and logical truth in the conformity of the 
sentiment to the nature of things. The opposite to 

logical 



8 PURITY OF STYLE. 

logical truth is error ; to moral truth a lie ; to gnjfti- 
niatical truth a solecism. 

The only standard by which the conformity implied 
in grammatical truth must be ascertained in every lan- 
guage, is the authorised, national, and present use of 
that language. 

Grammatical errors, foreign idioms, and obsolete or 
new-coined words, were mentioned as inconsistent with 
purity of style. It will not be improper to collect a 
few hints concerning each of these faults. 

I. GRAMMATICAL ERRORS, 

It is not in consequence of any peculiar irregularity 
or difficulty inherent in the English language, that the 
general practice both of speaking and writing it is 
chnvgeable with inaccuracy. That inaccuracy pro- 
ceeds rather from its simplicity and faciUty ; circum« 
stances which are apt to persuade us that a gramma- 
tical study of our native tongue is altogether super-^ 
fluous*. Were the language less easy and simple, 
we should find ourselves under a necessity of studying 
it with greater care and attention. But we commonly 
take for granted, that we possess a competent know- 



^ " Another will say, it wanteth grammar. . Nay, truly, it hath 
that praise, that it wants not grammar; for grammar it might have, 
but it needs it not, being so easy in itself, and so void of those cura- 
bersonie difference of cases, genders, moods, and tenses; which, I 
think, was a piece of the tower of Babylon's curse, that a man 
should be put to school to learn his mother tongue," — Sidne^/s De- 
fense of Foss^* 

ledge 



yuHlTY OF STYLE. 9 

ledge of it, and are able on any occasion to apply our 
^knowledge to practice. A faculty, sokly acquired by 
use, conducted by habit, and tried by the ear, carries 
■us on without the labour of reflexion : we meet wita 
no obstacles in our progress, or we do not perceive 
them ; we find ourselves able to proceed without rules, 
and we never suspect that they may be of any use. A 
grammatieal study of our own language forms no part 
of the ordinary course of instruction ; and we seldom 
apply to it of our own accord. This however is a de- 
ficiency which no other advantages can supply. Much 
practice in the polite world, and a general acquaintance 
with the best authors, must undoubtedly be considered- 
as excellent helps ; but even these will hardly be suf- 
ficient. A critical knowledge of ancient languages, 
and an intimate acquaintance with ancient autiiors, 
will be found still less adequate to the purpose. Dr, 
Bentley, the greatest critic and' most able gramma- 
rian of the age in which he lived, was notoriously 
deficient in the knowledge of his native tongue. 

Grammatical errors are so plentifully scattered over 
the pages of our eminent writers, that it will be no dif- 
ficult task to select a sufficient number of instances. 

1=. Graynmatical Errors in the Use of Pronouns, 

We contributed a third moredhan the Dutch, who were obliged 
to the same proportion more than us. — Swiff s Conduct of the Allies, 

King Charles, and more than hhn, the duke, and the Popish fac- 
tion, were at liberty to form new schemes. — BoIingbroke*s Disserta- 
tion on Parties. 

Phalaris, v>iho was so much older than hr. — Bentlei/*s Dissertation 
on Fhalariii 

The 



10 . PURITY OF STYLE. 

The drift of all his sermons was, to prepare the Jews for the re- 
ception of a prophet, mightier than him, and whose shoes he was not 
worthy to bear — Atterburi/s Sermons. 

If the king gives us leave, you or I may as lawfully preach, as 
them that do. — Hobbes's Hiitory of Civil Wars. 

In all these examples, the nominative cases of the pro- 
Tioims ought to have been used. This will more plainly 
appear from the following resolution of the first illus- 
tration : '' We contributed a third more than the Dutch, 
who were obhged to the same proportion more than we 
were obliged to." 

The Goths, the Vandals, the Gepidge, the Burgundians, the Ale- 
raanni, wasted each other's strength, and whosoever, vanquished, 
they vanquished the enemies of Rome.— Giifco/i's Hist, of the Homan 
Efnpire. 

Who is the poet, but lately arrived in Elysium, whom I saw Spin- 
ser lead in, and present him to Virgil? — Lyttelion's Dialogues of the 
Bead. 

Here the pronouns the^ and him are redundant. In 
the latter example, the accusative whom is understood 
before the verb present : '^ whom I saw Spenser lead 
in, and whoyn I saw Spenser present to Virgil." 

We are alone; here's none but thee and I. — Shakspeare. 
Instead of thee^ it should be thou. 
For ever in this humble cell. 
Let thee and I, my fair one, dwell.— PWor. 
The construction requires me instead of i. 

He, who7n ye pretend reigns in heaven, is so far from protecting 
the miserable sons of men, that he perpetually delights to blast the 
sweetest flowrets in the garden of Hope.—Hazvkesworth's Adven- 
turer. 

It ought to be who^ the nominative case to reigns, not 
whom, as if it were the accusative or objective case go- 
verned by pretend* 



Whom 



PURITY OF STYLE. 11 

Whom do men say that I am ? — St. Matthero. 
Whom think ye, that I an>? — Acts of the Apostles. 

In both these passages it ought to be who ; which is 
not governed by the verb sai^ or think, but by the 
verb am. 

These feasts were celebrated to the honour of Osiris, whom the 
Grecians called Dionysius, and is the same with Bacchus. — Swift on 
the Mechan. Oper. of the Spirit, 

Here the relative pronoun of the objective case must 
l>e understood as the nominative to the verb is. The 
passage ought to have stood thus : *' These feasts vrere 
celebrated to the honour of Osiris, whom the Grecians 
called Dionysius, and who is the same with Bacchus." 

Who should I meet at the coffee-house t'other night, hut my old 
friend ? — Steele, Spectator. 

Is is another pattern of this answerer's fair dealing, to give us 
hints that the author is dead, and yet to lay the suspicion upon 
somebody, I know not who, in the country. — Swift's Tale of a Tub, 

Here the construction requires whom. 

Some writers have used j/^- as the accusative plural of 
the pronoun thou. This is an infringement of the rules 
of grammar. 

His wrath, which one day will destroy t/e hoi\\. -^Milton, 
The more shame for ye; holy men I thought 3/e.—>S'/<«A'speare. 
I fe^\ the gales that from ye blow. — Gray, 
But tyrants dread ye, lest your just decree 
Transfer the power and set the people free.— Pn'on 

This mode of expression may perhaps be allowed in 
the comic and burlesque style, which often imitates a 
vulgar and incorrect pronunciation. But in the serious 
and solemn style, no authority is sufficient to justify so 
manifest a solecism. 

B 5 I heard 



12 PURITY OF STYLE. 

I heard it first observed by an ingenious and learned old gentle- 
man lately deceased, that many of Mr. Hobbes his seeming new 
opinions are gathered from those which Sextus Empiricus exposed. 
—^Dryderis Life of Flutarch. 

My paper is Ulysses his bow, in which every man of wit or learn- 
ing may try his strength. — Addison, Guardian. 

This by the calumniators of Epicurus his philosophy was objecteJ 
as one of the most scandalous of ail their sayings. — Cowley's Essays^ 
The pronoun his is here employed to denote the pos- 
sessive case of the noun which it accompanies. The 
writers have erroneously imagined that the 's which 
generally marks this case, is a contraction of the pos- 
sessive pronoun ; whereas it is only a contraction of 
the ancient Saxon genitive termination es, 

2. Grammatical Er^rors in the Use of Verbs, 

An4 Rebekah took goodly raiment of her eldest son Esau, which 
were with her in the house, and put them upon Jacob her youngest 
ton.— Genesis. 

The niunher of the names together zccre about an hundred and 
twenty. — Acts of the Apostles. 

Jf the blood of bulls, and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer, 
sprinkling the unclean, sanctifiethr to the purifying of flesh, how 
much more shall the blood of Christ purge your conscience from 
dead works. — St. Paul's Epistle to the Hebrews. 

I have considered what harve been said on both sides of the con- 
trerersy. — JiUotsons Sermons. 

One would think there was more sophists than one had a finger in 
this volume of letters. — Bentley's Dissert, on Socrates^s Epistles. 

There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. — Shakspeare. 

These instances require no elucidation ; the reader will 
easily perceive where the error lies. 

Knowing that you was my old mastei*'s good friend, I could not 
forbear sending you the melancholy news of his death. — Addison, 
Spectator. 

X am just now as well as when you. was here.— Pope's Letters. 

Desire 



PURITY OF STYLE. 13 

Desire this passionate lover to give you a character of his mistress, 
fee will tell you that he is at a loss for words to describe her charms, 
and will ask you seriously, if ever^'OM was acquainted with a goddess 
or an angel. — Hume's Essays, 

As the word j/ou is confessedly plural, its correspondent 
verb, agreeably to the analogy of all languages, ought 
also to be plural, whether the discourse be addressed 
to a single person or to more than one. Many other 
writers of no small reputation have, however, used the 
ungrammatical expression j/om was. But if the singu- 
lar were at all admissible after j/om, there woiild still be 
a violation of grammar in was, which is confined to the 
first and third persons ; the second being wast. 

Thou hangman, thou temple-robber, thou clod of earth, from 
what brothel did thou come up in patins, mufifl'd up, with tliy breath 
smelling of the stev/s ^—Arbuthnot on the Scolding of the Ancients. 
Thou great First Cause, least understood, 

Who all ray sense conjind 
To know but this, that thou art good. 

And that myself am blind ; 
Yet gave me, in this dark estate, 

To see the good from ill ; 
And, binding Nature fast in fate, 
Left free the human will. — Pope. 

Nor thou, lord Arthur, shalt escape; 

To thee I often call'd in vain. 
Against that assassin in crape ; 

Yet thou couMest tamely see me slain ; 
Nor, when I felt the dreadful blow. 

Or chid the dean, or pinch'd his spouse. — Swift. 

To correspond with the pronoun thou, all these verbs 
ought to have been in the second person singular; in- 
stead of which, they are in the i^econd person plural, as 
if they corresponded with the pronoun i/ou. Writers 
generally have recourse to this mode of expression, 

that 



14- PURITY OF STYLE. 

that they may avoid harsh terminations. — The distinct 
forms of thou and you are often used promiscuousl}^ : 

The confession is ingenuous, and I hope more from thee now, than 
I could \i you had promised. — Arhuthnofs Notes and Memorandums, 

Thy own words have convinced rae — (stand a little more out of 
the sun, if you please) — that thou hast not the least idea of true 
honour. — Fieldingh Dialogue between Alexander and Diogenes. 

Base ungrateful boy ! miserable as I am, yet I cannot cease to 
love thee. My love even now speaks in ray resentment. I am still 
your father, nor can your usage form my heart anew. — Goldsmith's 
Essays. 

Though the ministers of a tyrant's wrath, to thee they are faithful, 
and but too willing to execute the orders which you unjustly imposed 
upon them. — WalpoWs Castle of Otranto, 

This is not contrary to the rules of Enghsh grammar ; 
but it is certainly inelegant and improper. 

But the temper, as well as knowledge, of a modern historian, 
reqidre a more sober and accurate language. — Gibbons History of 
the Roman Empire. 

Magnug, with four thousand of liis supposed accomplices, -were 
,put to death. — Ibid. 

Those whom the splendour of their rank, or the extent of their 
capacity, have placed upon the summit of human life, have not often 
given any just occasion to envy in those who look up to them from 
a lower station. — Johnsons Life of Savage. 

lie knows not what spleen, languor, or listlessness, are. — Blair's 
Sermons, 

Neither death nor torture were sufficient to subdue the minds of 
Cargill, and his intrepid followers. — Fox's History of Jaynes the 
Second. 

The above errors have apparently been committed 
through inattention to the proper signification of the 

disjunctive particles. 

Each of these words imply some pursuit or object relinquished. — 
Blair's Rhetoric. 

It 



I'URITY OF STYLE. 15 

It is requisite that the language of an heroic poem should be both 
perspicuous and sublime. In proportion as either of these two qua- 
lities are wanting, the language is imperfect. — Addison, Spectator. 

Neither of them are remarkable for precision. — JBlair's Rhetoric. 

We should reckon every circumstance which enable them to divide 
and to maintain themselves in distinct and independent commu- 
nities. — Ferguson's Hii>tory of Civil Society, 

'Tis observable, that every one of the letters bear date after his 
banishment. — Bentley's Dissert, on Themistocles's Epistles. 

Here the distributive pronominal adjectives, each, either y 
neither and every ^ are ungrammatically connected with 
verbs of the plural number. 

None, which is a compound of no one, is manifestly 
singular : but it is sometimes improperly connected 
with a plural verb. 

None were permitted to enter the holy precincts, without con- 
fessing, by their servile bonds and suppliant posture, the immediate 
presence of the sovereign deity. — Gibbon's History of the Roman 
Empire. 

No nation gives greater encouragements to learning than we do ; 
yet at the same time wo?ze are so injudicious in the application.— 
Goldsmith on Polite Learning, 

S. Grammatical Errors in the Use of Participles, 

Among the number of grammatical errors, may ve 
be permitted to reckon the use of the past time active, 
as the participle perfect or passive, in those verbs 
which admit of a more complete and systematic form ? 

I had no sooner drank, but I found a pimple rising in my forehead. 
^•^Addison, Toiler. 

Notwithstanding the prophetical predictions of this critic, I do not 
find that any science hath throve among us of late, so much as the 
minute philosophy. — Berkelefs Minute Philosopher. 

Had he wrote English poetry in so unenlightened a. period, the 

world 



1^ PURITY OF STYLE. 

world would have lost his refined diction and harmonious versifi-- 
cation. — Warton's Observations on Spenser, 

Iwill also allow, that you hit the manner of Horace, and the sly 
delicacy of his wit, more exactly than I, or than any other man who 
has writ since his time.-^L}/ttelton's Dialogues of the Dead. 

in this respect, -the seeds of future divisions were sozo^d abundantly* 
•"^Bolinghroke^s Dissertation on Pm'ties. 

The court of Augustus had not wor&off the manners of the repub- 
lic. — Hume's Essays, 

A free constitution, when it has been shook by the iniquity of^ 
former administrations.— .:BoZmg5ro/ce*s Idea of a Patriot King:. 

He is God in his friendship, as well as his naturci and therefore 
we sinful creatures are not took upon advantages^ nor consumed in 
our provocations. — Southh Sermons^/ 

Which some philosophers, not considering so well as I, have mistook 
to be ditferent in their causes. — Swift's Tale of a Tub. 

The greater regard was shem'd, and the expectations raised higher, 
as these were of a base nature, or of a more noble, thriving, or 
innocent quality. — Arbuthnofs Congress ofJBees, 

Moses tells us, that the fountains of the earth were broke open, or 
clove asunder. — Burnefs Theory of the Earth. 

I easily forsee, that, as soon as I lay down my pen, this nimble 
operator will have stole it. — Swift's Tale of a Tub. 

By this expedient, the public peace of libraries, might certainly 
have been preserved, if a new species of controversial books had not 
arose of late years. — Swift's Battle of the Books, 

The steps which lead to perfection are many; and we are: at a 
loss on whom to bestow the greatest share of our praise; on the first 
or on the last who may have bore a part in the progress. — Ferguson's 
History of Civil Society. 

In these examples, the past time active is used instead 
of the perfect participle. This confusion should upon 
every occasion be scrupulously avoided. The English 
langLiauge admits not of any great variety of termi- 
nation ; but of such as it does admit, we ought always 
to avail ourselves. It is certainly of advantage that 

the 



PURITY OF STTLE. IT 

the different modifications of verbs should be properljr 
distinguished from each other. 

Before we conclude this branch of the subject, it will 
be proper to warn the reader against permitting a verb 
to succeed a participle in such an ungraceful manner 
#s appears in the following passages. 

Tlie author is informed, that the bookseller has prevailed on 
several gentlemen to write some explanatory notes, for the goodness 
of which he is not to answer; having never seen any of them, nor 
intends it, till they appear in print. — Swift's Tale of a Tub, 

Nor is it then a welcome guest, affording only an uneasy sensation, 
and brings always with it a mixture of concern and compassion. — 
Fielding's Essay on Conversation, 

4. Grammatical Errors in the Use of Adjectives, 
Adjectives which have a comparative or superlative 
signification, do not admit the addition of the words 
more^ most, or of the comparative or superlative termi- 
nations er, est. The following passages, therefore, are 
liable to exception. 

The last are, indeed, more preferable, because they are founded on 
some new knowledge or improvement in the mind of man. — Addison, 
Spectator. 

The chief est of which was known by the name of Ar chon among 
the Grecians. — Dryden's Life of Plutarch. 

The two chief est properties of air, its gravity and elastic force, 
have been discovered by mechanical experiments. — Arbuthnofs 
Essay on Mathematical Learning. 

The chiefcst and largest are removed to certain magazines they 
call libraries. — Swift's Battle of the Books. 

The extremest parts of the earth were meditating a submission.— 
Atterbury's Sermons. 

When only two objects are composed together, it is 
improper to use the superlative degree. It is proper 

1 to 



18 PURITY OF STYLE. 

to say the mo7^e elegant of the two ; the most elegant 
of the three. This obvious rule has, however, been 
neglected by various writers of eminence. 

This was in reality the easiest manner of the two. — Shafteshurifs 
Advice to an Author. 

The adjective ayitiquarian is not unfrequently used as a 
substantive ; but the more legitimate form is antiquary. 

Adjectives are sometimes improperly used as adverbs : 

I shall endeavour to live hereafter suitable to a man in my station. 
—Addisorif Spectator. 

The queen having changed her ministry suiiahle to her own 
wisdom.— .Sayzfi, Examiner. 

He behaved himself con/yrw«We to that blessed example.— 5j9ra^'s 
Sermons. 

His expectations run high; and the fund to supply them is €xtre?ne 
scanty. — Lancaster's Essni/ on Delicaci/. 

I can never think so very mean of him. — Bentlei/'s Disse7'tation 
on Phalaris. 

The art of pronouncing with propriety and grace, being calculated 
to make the sound an echo to the sense, scarce admits of any other 
general rule. — Karnes's Elements of Criticism. 

In these examples, the idiom of the language requires 
the adverbs, suitably, co7iformably j extremely, meanly, 
and scarcely, 

5, Grammatical Errors in the Use of Negative and 
Disjunctive Particles. 

That neither partiality or prejudice appear; but that truth may 
every where be sacred. — Dryderi's Life of' Plutarch, 

There is another use, that in my opinion, contributes rather to 
make a man learned than wise, and is neither capable of pleasing 
the understanding or imagination. — Addison on Medals. 

These, like a hand with an inscription, can point out the straight 
■way upon the road, but can neither tell you the next turnings, resolve 

your 



PURITY OF STYLE, 19 

youi* doubts, or answer your questions, like a guide that has traced 
it over, and perhaps knows it as well as his chamber. — Temple on 
Ancient and Modern Learning. 

He was early charged by Asinius Pollio as neither faithful or exact. 
—Ledwick^s Antiquities of Ireland. 

The legitimate correspondent of neither is nor. 

We need not, nor do not, confine the purposes of God. — Bentley^s 
Sermons. 

In the growth and stature of souls, as well as bodies, the common 
productions are of different sizes, that occasion no gazing, nor no 
wonder. — Temple on Ancient and Modern Learning. 

I'll prove by twenty-five substantial reasons, that you're no com- 
poser, nor know no more of music, than you do of algebra. — Ar- 
buthiiot, Harmony in an Uproar. 

Nor is danger ever apprehended in such a government from the 
violence of the sovereign, no more than we commonly apprehend 
danger from thunder or earthquakes. — Hume's Emiyi, 

In each of these sentences, there is a doubl© negative, 
which amounts to an affirmative. 



II. FOREIGN IDIOMS^ 

The use of such constructions as belong to the idiom 
of another language, is like every species of affectation, 
nauseous and disgusting*. An author may sometimes 
happen to admit them through mere inadvertency ; but 

* " Dryden had a vanity, unworthy of his abilities, to shew, as 
may be suspected, the rank of the company with whom he lived, by 
the use of French words, which had then crept into conversation ; 
such zs, fraicheur for coolness, fougue for turbulence, and a few more, 
none of which the language has incorporated or retained. They 
continue only where they stood first, perpetual warnings to future 
innovators."— /oAnsow's Life of Dryden, 

he 



£0 PURITY OF STYLE. 

he will more fiequentl}'^ have recourse to thenT,irt order 
to display his ertidition. 

The king soon found reason to repent him of his provoking suek 
dangerous enemies. — Humeh History of England. 

The popular lords did not fail to enlarge themselves on the subjsGh. 
-^Macaulay's History of England. 

Solomon was of this mind ; and I make no doubt, but he made 
as wise and true praverbs as any body has dune since : Him only 
excepted^ who was a much greater and wiser man than Solomon.—' 
Tillotsonh Seivjions, 

Removing the term from Westminster, sitting the parliament , vrti» 
illegal. — Macaulay's History of England. 

I shall here subjoin some examples of prepositions, 
"which, if not applied according to the idiom of other 
languages, are at least applied contrary to the general 
usage of our standard writers. 

The only actions to (upon) which we have always seen, and still 
see all of them intent, are such as tend to the destruction of one 
another. — Burke''s Vindication of Natural Society. 

lb (with) which, as Bishop Burnet tells us, the prince of Orange 
was willing to comply.— Bo/m^6ro/£e*s Dissertation on Parties. 

He bad been perplexed with a long compliance to (with) foreigii 
manners. — Sprafs^ Life of Cowley. 

Your character, which I,. or any other writer, may now value our- 
selves by (upon) drawing, will probably be dropt, on account of the 
antiquated style and manner they are delivered m.^-^Szoift on the 
English Tongue. 

The discovery he made and- communicated with {to) his friends.— • 
Swift's Tale of a Tub. 

The people being only convoked upon such occasions, as, by this 
institution of Romulus, fell into (under) their cognizance. — Swift's 
Contests and Dissensions in Athens and Rome. 

Not from any personal hatred to them, but in justification to (of) 
the best of queens. — Sioytf. Examiner. 

The wisest princes need not think it any diminution ta (of) their 

greatness 



PURITY OF STYLE. 21 

greatness, or derogation to (from) their suS^ciency, to rely upon 
counsel. — Bacon^s Essays. 

A supercilious attention to minute formalities, is a certain ind¥> 
cation of a little mind, conscious to (of) the want of inaate dignity, 
— HawkeswortKs Almoran and Hamet' 

He found the greatest difficulty of (in) writing. — Hume's History 
of England. 

The esteem which Philip had conceived of (for) the ambassadorc 
--Ibid. 

The greatest difficulty was found ^(in) fixing just sentiments. — 
Ibid. 

The Christians were driven out of all their Asiatic possessions, 
in acquiring of which (in acquiring which) incredible numbers of 
men had perished.— Jlo6er?50w'« View of Society, 

You know the esteem I have of (for) hi& philosophy, — Karnes's 
Law Tracts. 

He is so resolved of (on) going to the Persian courti— JBen^/ej/'s 
Dissert, on Themistodes* Epistks, 

Neither the one nor th© othgr shall mak© aae swtrve out of (from) 
the path, which I have traced to myself*— Be^ingferoAie's Letter to 
Wyndham, 

'■ I do likewise dissent with (from) the Examiner, — Addison, Whig* 
Examiner. 

Dr. Johnson {with (from) whom I am sorry to differ in opinion) 
has treated it as a work of merit. — Scotfs Critical Essays. 

Ovid, whom ye accuse yor (of) laxuriancy of verse. — Dryden on 
Dramatic Poesy. 

If policy can prevail upon (over) force. — -Addison's Travels. 

This effect, we may safely say, no one beforehand could have pro» 
inised upon. — Hume^s History of England. 

A greater quantity may be taken from the heap, without making 
any sensible alteration upon (in) it. — Huine's^ Essays. 

Every office of command should be intrusted to persons on (in) 
%hom the parliament shall confide. — Macauley*s History of England?. 

m\ of which required abundance of finesse and deiicatesse t<y 
manage with advantage, as well as a strict observance after {of) 
times and faghions,-^)Si»^j/V's Talc of a Tuh^ 

The 



£S^ PURITY OF STYLE. 

The memory of Lord Peter's injuries produced a degree of hatred' 
and spite, which had a much greater share o/"(in) inciting hira, than 
an^ regards a/jfer (for) his father's commands. — Szviffs Tale of a Tub, 



III. NEW AND OBSOLETE WORDS. 

On this subject, I shall take the liberty of quoting a- 
passage from Dr. Armstrong,, but without professing to 
adopt all the opinions which it contains. 

*' It is the easiest thing imagmable to coin new 
words. The most ignorant of the mobility are apt to 
do it every day, and are laughed at for it. What best 
can justify the introducing a new word, is necessity, 
where there is not an established one to express j'our 
meaning. But, while all the world understands what 
is meant by the word pleasure, which sounds very well 
too, what occasion can there be for saying voluptj/ ? 

" Nothing can deform a language so much as an in- 
undation of new words and phrases. It is, indeed, the 
readiest way to demolish it. If there is any need to 
illustrate the barbarous effects which a mixture of new 
words must produce, only consider how a discourse, 
patched all over with sentences in different languages, 
would sound ; or how oddly it would strike you in a 
serious conversation to hear, from the same person, a 
mixture of all the various dialects and tones of the se- 
veral counties of the three kingdoms ; though it is still 
the same language. To make it sensible to the eye ; 
how greatly would a mixture of Roman, Itahc, Greek, 
and Saxon characters deform a page. A picture imi- 
tating the style of different masters, which is commonly 

called 



PURITY OF STYLE. 23 

called a Gallery of Painters, can never be pleasing for 
the same reasons, want of union and harmony. 

*' The present licentious humour of coining and bor- 
rowing words seems to portend no good to the English 
language ; and it is grievous to think with what volupty 
two or poetararorencouroac * eminent personages have 
opiniatrtd the inchoation of s,{ic\\ futile barbarisms. 

** In short, the liberty of coining words ought to be 
used with great modesty. Horace, they say, gave but 
two, and Virgil only one to the Latin tongue, which 
■was squeamish enough not to swallow those, even from 
such hands, without some reluctance. 

*' Instead of creating a parcel of auk ward new words, 
I imagine it would be an improvement to degrade many 
of the old ones from their peerage. I am but a private 
man, and without authority ; but an absolute prince, 
if he were of my opinion, would make it capital ever to 
say encroach or encroachment , or any thing that belongs 
to encroaching, I would commit inculcate^ for all its 
Latinity, to the care of the paviours ; and it should 
never appear above ground again. If you have the 
least sympathy with the human ear, never say purport 
while you breathe ; nor betwixt, except you have first 
repeated between till we are quite tired of it. Methinks 
strongly resembles the broken language of a German 
in his first attempts to speak English. Methoiight lies 
under the same objection, but it sounds better. 

" It is full time that froward should be turned out 
of all good company, especially as perverse is ready at 
hand to supply its place. Vouchsafe is a very civil 

* An American woinl for the number three. 

gentleman ; 



214 PROPRIETY OF STYLE. 

gentleman ; but as his courtesy is somewhat old-fa- 
shioned, we wish he would deign, or condescend^ or be 
'pleased, to retire. 

*' From what rugged road, I wonder, did swerve 
deviate into the English language? — But this subject 
^natter ! — In the name of every thing that is disgusting 
and detestable, what is it ? Is it one or two ugly words ? 
What is it ? Confound me if ever I could guess! Yet 
one dares hardly peep into a preface, for fear of being 
stared in the face with this nasty subject matter**''* 



CHAP. III. 

OF PROPRIETY OF STYLE. 

T>ROPRIETY of style stands opposed to vulgarisms 
or low expressions, and to words and phrases 
which would be less significant of the ideas we mean 
to convey. An author may be deficient in propriety, 
either by making choice of such words as do not ex- 
press the idea which he intends, but some other which 
only resembles it ; or such as express that idea, but not 
fully and completely. He may also be deficient in this 
respect by making choice of words or phrases, whicii 
habit has taught us to regard as mean and vulgar. 

All that I propose in relation to this subject is, to 
collect a considerable number of vulgar phrases, from 
the writins^s of different authors. 



Armstrong's Essays, 

These, 



PROPRIETY OF STYLE. 25 

These and many other particulars might easily choke the faith of a 
pliiiosopher, who behaved no more than what he could deduce from 
the principles of nature.— Dr^^cfen's Life of l lutarch. 

The kings of Syria and Egypt, the kings of Pergaraus and Macedon, 
without intermission, worried each other for above two hundred years. 
-—Burke^s Vindication of Natural Society. 

Besides his having attained such a mastery in the Greek, Latin, 
and French, languages, he is a very good philosopher, and, in general, 
possesses all the branches of erudition, except the mathematics.— 
Spence's Life of Blacklock. 

I need say no more concerning the drift of these letters.— ^i/ciVs 
J^etters to his Son. 

Archbishop Tillotson is too often careless and languid; and is 
much outdone by Bishop Atterbury, in the music of his periods.—* 
Blair's Rhetoric. 

Every year a new flower in his judgment beats all the old ones, 
though it is much inferior to them both in colour and shape. — Maw 
demlle on the Nature of Society. 

I am wonderfully pleased when I meet with any passage in an 
old Greek or Latin author, that is not blown upon, and which I have 
never met with in a quotation. — Addison, Spectator. 

His name must go down to posterity with distinguished honow in 
the public records of the nation. — Hurd^s Life of Warburion. 

We enter into their graditude towards those faithful friends who 
^id not desert them in their difficulties; and we heartily go along 
with their resentment, against those perfidious traitors who injured, 
abandoned, or deceived, them. — Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. 

Alarmed by the ungoverned, and, in him, unprecedented emotions 
of Edgar, he had been to Beech Park. — D'Arblay's Camilla. 

It was but of a piece, indeed, that a ceremony cond ucted in defiance 
4if humanity, should be founded in contempt of justice, — Melmoth's 
Letter of Fitzosborne. 

It so happened that a controversy was agitated with great vehe- 
mence between those friends of long continuance, Addison and 
JSteele. — Johnson's Life of Addison. 

It is well if the reader, without rejecting by the lump, endeavour 
patiently to gather tlije plain meaning.— JCa/Tjes's Elements of Criticism. 

Rabelais- 



£6 PROPRIETY OF STYLE. 

Rabelais had too much game given him fo7' satire in tliat age by 
the customs of courts and of convents, of processes and of wars, of 
schools and of camps, of romances and legends. — Temple on Foetry. 

One would think there was (zcere) more sophists than one had a 
Jiiigerin this vf)lume of letters. — Bent ley on Socraies's Epistles. 

I had as Uefsscy a thing after him as after another. — Lowth^s Letter 
to Warbiirton, 

If all these were exemplary in the conduct of their lives, things 
would soon take a new face^ and religion receive a mighty encou- 
ragement.— Sa/i/i5 on the Advancement of Religion. 

Nor would he do it to maintain debate, or shew his wit, but plainly 
tell me what stuck with him. — Burnetts Life of Rochester. 

Content, therefore, I am, my lord, that Britain stands in this 
respect as she now does. Able enough she is at present to shift for 
herself. — Shftesburfs I^etter conceiving Design, 

Much ado there has been, many words spent, many disputes have 
been raised upon this argument.— T<£wp/e on Poetry. 

What is it but a kind of rack that forces men to say what they have 
no mind to ? — Cowley's Essays. 

Time hangs heavy on their hands; they know not how to employ 
it, or what to make of themselves. — Lngan^s Sermons.. 

This is one among the many reasons, which render biography the 
most agreeable kind of reading in the world — Roberts, Looker-on, 

A perfect union of wit and judgment is one of the rarest things 
in the world. — Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful, 

Whoever is in the least acquainted with Grecian history, must ' 
know that their legislator, by the severity of his institutions, formed 
the Spartans into a robust, hardy, valiant, nation, made for war. — 
Lelujid's History of Philip. 

He therefore made rhyming tragedies, till, by the prevalence of 
manifest propriety, he seems to have grown ashamed o{ making them^ 
any longer. — Johnson^ Life of Dryden. 

From that time he resolved to ?nake no more translations.— 
Johnson's Life of Pope. 

It is my design to comprise in this short paper, the substance of 
those numerous dissertations the critics have vuide on the subject. 
-rrPope's Discourse en Pastoral Poetry, 

A fevir 



PROPRIETY OF STYLE.- 27 

A few reflections on the rise and progress of our distemper, and 
the rise and progress of our cure, will help us of course to make a 
true judgment. — BoUngbroke's Dissertation on Parties, 

This application of the verb make is awkward, as well 
as familiar. To make tragedies, to make translations, 
to make dissertations, to make judgments, are ex- 
pressions which should never be admitted into a digni- 
fied composition. 

A vulgar expression, says Longinus, is sometimes 
much more significant than an elegant one.* This 
may readily be granted ; but however significant it 
may be, no expression that has a tendency to create 
sensations of disgust, will, by a judicious Writer, be 
thought worthy of admission. 

The following quotation w ill serve to show how the 
most beautiful descriptions of poetry may be deformed 
by the introduction of one low or vulgar expression. 

'Tis night, dread night, and weary Nature lies 

So fast as if she never were to rise; 

No breath of wind now whispers thro' the trees, 

No noise at land, nor murmur in the sea§; 

Lean wolves forget to howl at night's pale noon, 

No wakeful dogs bark at the silent moon, 

Nor bay the ghosts that glide with horror by 

To view the caverns where their bodies he; 

The ravens perch, and no presages give. 

Nor to the windows of the dying cleave; 

The owls forget to scream; no midnight sound 

Calls drowsy Echo from the hollow ground : 

In vaults the walking fires extinguished lie; 

The stars, heavVs sentries, wink and seem to die.~-Zce. 

* Longinus de Subhmitate, § xxxi. 

c CHAP. 



[ 28 ] 



CHAR IV. 

OF PRECISION OF STYLE, 

^y^ HE third quality which enters into the composition 
of a perspicuous style, is precision. This implies 
the retrenching of all superfluity of expression.. A 
precise style exhibits an exact copy of the writer's ideas. 
To write with precision, though this be properly a 
quality of style, he must possess a very considerable 
degree of distinctness in his manner of thinking. Unless 
his own conceptions be clear and accurate, he cannot 
convey to the minds of others a clear and accurate 
knowledge of the subject which he treats. 

Looseness of style, which is properly opposed to 
precision, generally arises from' using a superfluity of 
words. Feeble writers employ a multitude of words 
to make themselves understood, as they imagine, more 
distinctly : but, instead of accomplishing this purpose, 
they only bewilder their readers. They are sensible 
that they have not caught an expression calculated to 
convey their precise meaning ; and therefore they 
endeavour to illustrate it by heaping together a mass 
of ill-consorted phrases. The image which they endea- 
vour to present to our mind, is always viewed double ; 
and no double image can be viewed distinctly. When 
an author tells me of his hero's courage in the day of 
battle, the expression is precise, and I understand it 
fully. But if, for the sake of multiplying words, he 
should afterwards extol hia/ortitudey my thoughts imme- 
diately 



PRECISION OF STYLE. S9 

(liately begin to waver between these two attributes. 
In thus endeavouring to express one quality more 
strongly, he introduces another. Courage resists danger; 
fortitude supports pain. The occasion of exerting each 
of these qualities is different : and being led to think of 
both together when only one of them should be pre- 
sented to me, my view is rendered unsteady, and my 
conception of the great object indistinct. 

An author may be perspicuous, without being pre- 
cise. He uses proper words, and proper anangements ; 
but as his own ideas are loose and general, he cannot 
express them with any great degree of precision. Few 
authors in the English language are more clear and 
perspicuous than Archbishop Tillotson and Sir WiUiam 
Temple; yet neither of them can pretend to much 
precision. They are loose and diffuse ; and very often 
<Jo not select such expressions as are adapted for 
conveying simply the idea they have in view : it is 
frequently associated with some kindred notion. 

All subjects do not require to be treated with the 
same degree of precision. It is requisite that in every 
species of writing this quality should in some measure 
be perceptible ; but we must at the same time be upon 
our guard, lest the study of precision, especiidly in 
treating subjects which do not absolutely require it, 
should betray us into a dry and barren style ; lest, from 
the desire of pruning more closely, we retrench all 
copiousness and ornament. A deficiency of this kind 
may be remarked in the serious compositions of Swift. 

To unite copiousness with precision, to be flowing 
and graceful, and at the same time correct and exact 
in the choice of every word, is one of the highest and 

most 



30 ^ PRECISION OF STYLE. 

most difficult attainments in writing. Some species of 
composition may require more of copiousness and 
ornament ; others more of precision and accuracy ; 
and even the same composition Qiay, in different partsj 
require a difference of style. But these qualities must 
never be totally sacrificed to each other. 

^* If (says Dr. .Armstrong) I were to reduce my 
own private idea of the best language to a definition, 
I should call it the shortest, clearest, and easiest, way of 
expressing one's thoughts, by the most harn:^onious 
arrangement of the best chosen words, both for meaning 
and sound. The best language is strong and expressive, 
w ithout stiffness or affectation ; short and concise, 
v/ithout being either obscure or ambiguous ; and easy 
and flowing and disengaged, without one undetermined 
or superfluous word.*" 

The want of precision is an unpardonable error in a 
writer who treats of philosophical subjects. On this 
account, the style of Lord Shaftesbury is highly excep- 
tionable. The noble author seems to have been well 
acquainted ^vith the power of words : those which he 
employs are generally proper and sonorous; and his 
arrangement is often judicious. His defect in precision 
is not so much imputable to indistinctness of conception, 
as to perpetual affectation. He is fond to excess of 
the pomp and parade of language ; he is never satisfied 
•with expressing any thing clearly and simply ; he must 
always give it the dress of state and majesty. Afraid 
of delivering his thoughts arrayed in a mean and 
ordinary garb, and allured by an appearance of splen- 



^ Armstrong's Essays, 

dour, 



PRECISION OF STYLE. 31 

dour, he heaps together a crowd of superfluous word^, 
and inundates every idea which he means to express 
with a torrent of copious Joquacity. Hence perpetual 
circumlocutions, and many words and phrases employed 
to describe what would have much better been described 
by one alone. If he has occasion to introduce any 
author, he very rarely mentions him by bis proper 
name. In the treatise entitled Advice to an Author, 
he employs two or three successive pages in descanting 
upon Aristotle, without naming him in any other man- 
ner than as ** the master critic,'* ** the prince of critics," 
** the consummate philologist,"' ** the. grand master of 
art," ** the mighty genius and judge of art." In the 
same manner, " the grand poetic sire," ** the philoso- 
phical patriarch," and '' his disciple of noble birth and 
lofty genius," are the only names by which he conde- 
scends to designate Homer, Socrates, and Plato. This 
method of distinguishing persons is extremely affected ; 
but it is not so contrary to precision, as the frequent 
circumlocutions which he employs to express the pow- 
ers and affections of the mind. In one passage, he 
denominates the moral faculty, *' that natural afTection, 
and anticipating fancy, which makes the sense of right 
and wrong/' When he has occasion to mention self- 
examination, or reflection on our own conduct, he 
speaks of it as the act of ** a man's dividing himself 
into two parties, becoming a self-dialogist, entering 
into partnership with himself, and forming the dual 
number practically within himself." 

In the following paragraph he wishes to show, that, 
by every vicious action, we injure the mind, as much 

as 



S2 PRECISION OF STYLE, 

as a man would injure his body by swallowing poison, 
or inflicting on himself a wound. 

Now, if the fabric of the mind or temper appeared to us such as 
it really is; if we saw it impossible to remove hence any one good 
or orderly affection, or to introduce any ill or disorderly one, without 
drawing on, in some degree, that dissolute state which, at its height, 
is confessed to be so miserable; it would then, undoubtedly, be 
confessed, that since no ill, immoral, or unjust Action, can be com- 
mitted, without either a new inroad and breach on the temper and 
passions, or a further advancing of that execution already done; 
whoever did ill, or acted in prejudice of his integrity, good-nature, 
or worth, would, of necessity, act with greater cruelty towards 
himself, than he who scrupled not to swallow what was poisonous, 
or who, with his own hands, should, voluntarily mangle or wound 
his outward form or constitutixjn, natural limbs or body.— S^c/lfes- 
bury's Inquiry concerning Virtue. 

Such superfluity of words is disgusting to every 
reader of a correct taste ; and produces no other effect 
than that of embarrassing and perplexing the sense. 
To commit a bad action is, first, *' to remove a good 
and orderly aflbction, and to introduce an ill or disor- 
derly one ;" next, it is, ' ' to commit an action that is 
ill, immoral, or unjust;" and then *Ho do ill, or to act 
in prejudice of integrity, good-nature, or worth.*' 
Nay, so very simple a thing as a man's wounding him- 
self, is, ** to mangleor wound his outv;ard form or 
constitution^ natural limbs or body.*' 



CHAP. 



[ 33 ] 



CHAP. V. 

OF SYNONYMOUS ^yORD.?. 

TiyTANY words are accounted synonymous, wbich 
are not so in reality : and indeed it may reason- 
ably be disputed whether two words can be found in 
any language, which express precisely the same idea. 
However closely they may approximate to each other 
in signification, still can the discriminating eye of the 
critic discover a line of separation between them. 
They agree in expressing one principal idea ; but 
always express it with some diversity in the circum- 
stances. They are varied by some accessory idea 
which severally accompanies each of the words, and 
which forms the distinction between them. 

As they are like different shades of the same colour, 
an accurate writer can employ them to great advantage, 
by using them so as to heighten and to finish the 
picture which he gives us. He supplies by the one 
what was wanting in the other, to the force, or to the 
lustre of the image which he means to exhibit. But, 
with a view to this end, he must be extremely attentive 
to the choice which be makes of them. For the gene- 
rality of writers are apt to confound them with each 
other; and to employ them with promiscuous care- 
lessness, merely for the sake of filling up a period, or 
of diversifying the language. By using them as if their 
signification were precisely the same, they unwarily 
involve their ideas in a kind of mist. 

Many 



34- SYNONYMOUS VORDS. 

Many instances might be given of a difference in 
meaning between words reputed synonymous. The 
few which I shall select from Dr. Blair and Mrs. Piozzi,* 
, may themselves be of some use ; and they will besides 
serve to show^ the necessity of attending, with the 
utmost care, to the exact significations of words, if 
ever we would write with propriety or, precision. 

To abandon, forsake^ relinquish, give up, desert, leave, 
quit. — A man forsakes his mistress, abandons all hope 
of regaining her lost esteem, relinquishes his pretensions 
in favour of another ; gives up a place of trust which 
he held under government, deserts his party, leaves 
his parents in afSictiou, and quits the kingdom for ever. 

To abhor, detest. — To abhor imports, simply, strong 
dislike ; to detest imports also strong disapprobation. 
A man abhors being in debt ; he detests treachery. 

Active, assiduous^ sedulous, diligent, industrious, — 
The king is happy who is served by an active minister, 
ever industrious to promote his country's welfare, nor 
less diligent to obtain intelligence of what is passing at 
other courts, than assiduous to relieve the cares of his 
royal master, and sedulous to study the surest methods 
of extending the commerce of the empire abroad, 
•while he lessens all burdens upon the subjects at home. 

To avow, acknowledge, conjess.- — Each of these words 
signifies the affirmation of a fact, but in very different 
circumstances. To avow, supposes the person to glory 
in it ; to acknowledge, supposes a small degree of 

* Blair's Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres. Piozzi's 
British Synonymy.— This lady's design is commendable ; but her 
work is full of errors, 

delinquency 



SYNONYMOUS WORDS. 35 

delinquency, which the acknowledgment compensates; 
to confess, supposes a higher degree of crhninaUty. 
A patriot avows his opposition to a corrupt ministry, 
and is applauded ; a gentleman acknowledges his mis- 
take, and is forgiven ; a prisoner confesses the crime 
of which he stands accused, and is punished. 

Austerity i severity, rigour » — Austerity relates to the 
manner of living ; severity of thinking ; rigour of 
punishing. To austerity is opposed effeminacy; to 
severity relaxation ; to rigour clemency. A hermit is 
austere in his life; a casuist severe in his application 
• of religion or law ; a judge rigorous in his sentences. 

Authentic^ genuine. — No two words are more fre- 
quently confounded ; though their signification is suf- 
ficiently clear and distinct. Authentic refers to the 
character of a document; genuine, to the connexion' 
between any production and its reputed author. We 
speak with correctness of the authenticity of Buchanan's 
History, and of the genuineness of the Poems ascribed 
to Ossian. But the authenticity of Ossian's poems, 
properly denotes the authority of those poems in a^ 
historical point of view. 

Capaciti/., ability, — Capacity relates to the mind'3 
susceptibility of receiving impressions ; ability to its 
power of making active exertions. The Earl of Cla- 
rendon, being a man of extensive capacity, stored his 
mind with a variety of ideas ; which circumstance con- 
tributed to the successful exertion of his vigorous 
abilities. 

Custom, habit. — Custom respects the action; habit 

the actor. By custom, we mean the frequent repetition 

of the same act ; by habit, the effect which that repe- 

c 5 titioa 



SG SYNONYMOUS WORDS. 

tition produces on the miiid or body. By the castom 
of walking often in the streets, one acquires a habit of 
idleness. 

' A difficulty, an obstacle, — A difficulty embarrasses, an 
obstacle stops us. The first generally expresses some- 
thing arising from the nature and circumstances of the 
affair ; the second, something arising from a foreign 
cause. Philip found difficulty in managing the Athe- 
nians, on account of their natural dispositions ; but the 
eloquence of Demosthenes was the great obstacle to 
his designs. 

To distinguish, separate. — We distinguish what we 
do not wish to confound with another thing ; we sepa- 
rate what we wish to remove from it. Objects are 
distinguished from each other by their qualities. They 
are separated by the distance of time or place. 

EntirCy complete, — A thing is entire by wanting none 
of its parts ; complete by wanting none of its^ appen- 
dages. A man may be master of an entire house ; 
which has not one complete apartment. 

Equivoeal, ambiguous.— An equivocal expression has 
one sense open, and designed to be understood ; another 
sense concealed, and understood only by the person 
who uses it. An ambiguous expression has apparently 
two senses, and leaves us at a loss which of them to 
apply to it. An equivocal expression is used with an 
intention to deceive ; an ambiguous one, when pur- 
posely adopted, with an intention to give full infor- 
mation. An honest man will never employ an equivocal 
expression ^ a confused man may often utter ambiguous 
terms without any design. 

Jiaughtinessy disdain. — 'Haughtiness is founded on 
1 the 



SYNONYMOUS WORDS. 3/ 

the high opinion we entertain of ourselves ; disdain, on 
the mean opinion we entertain of others. 

To invent, to discover. — To invent, signifies to pro- 
duce something totally new ; to discover, signifies to 
find out something which was before hidden. Galileo 
invented the telescope ; Harvey discovered the circu- 
lation of the blood. 

Onlij, alone. — Only imports that there is no other 
object of the same kind ; alone imports being unac- 
companied by any other object. An only child is one 
that has neither brother nor sister ; a child alone, is one 
that is left by itself. There is a difference, therefore, 
111 precise language, bet wen these two phrases, /' Virtue^ 
only makes us happy ;" and "Virtue alone makes us 
happy." Virtue only makes us happy, implies that 
nothing else can do it. Virtue alone makes us happy, 
implies that virtue, unaccompanied with other advan- 
tages, makes us happy. In the following sentence, 
Mr. Gibbon has emploj-ed the two words as if they 
were perfectly synonymous : ♦' Of the nineteen tyrants, 
Tetricus only Avas a senator; Piso alone was a noble.'' 

Pride, vanity, — Pride makes us esteem ourselves;, 
vanity makes us desire the esteem of others. A mail, 
may be too proud to be vain. << Pride," says the 
learned and eloquent Dr. Brown, " is often confounded 
v.-ith vanity, from Avhich it differs, both in its essence 
and its effects. The vain, as well as the proud man, 
is enamoured of his own qualities and circumstances^ 
and deems them superior to those of others. Cut, as 
the constant object of tlie former is applause, he i; 
continually displaying his talents, his virtues^ or his 
dignity, in order to obtain it. Sensible of his xlepen« 

dance 



38 SYNONYMOUS WORDS. 

dance on mankind, for that commendation at which he 
is al\^ays aiming, he endeavours to insm*e their admi- 
ration, although he excite at the same time their 
contempt. The proud man, on the contrary, disdains 
even commendation as a favour, but claims it as a debt, 
and demands respect as an homage to which he is 
entitled. Reverence is not a prize which he must win, 
but a property w^hich it is injustice to withold from 
him. The vain are objects of ridicule, but not of 
detestation. The proud are both contemptible and 
odious."* 

To remark^ observe, — We remark, in the way of 
attention, in order to remember ; we observe, in the 
way of examination, in order to judge. A traveller 
remarks the most striking objects lie sees ; a general 
observes all the motions of his enemy. 

Surprised, astonished, amazed, confounded, — I am 
surprised at what is new or unexpected ; I am asto- 
nished at what is vast or great ; I am amazed at what 
is incomprehensible; I am confounded by what is 
shocking or terrible. 

Tranquillity, peace, calm, — Tranquillity respects a 
situation free from trouble, considered in itself; peace, 
the same situation with respect to any causes that 
might interrupt it ; calm, with respect to a disturbed 



• Sermons by William Laurence Brown, D.D. Principal of Ma- 
rischal College, Aberdeen. Edinb. 1803, 8vo. — In the essential 
qualities of originality and energy, these sermons are greatly superior 
to Dr. Blair's. The fourth of them, " On the Nature, the Causes, 
-and the .ESeetS',""of Indifference with regard to Religion/' I consider 
as the best discourse which I have ever read. 

situation 



SYNONYMOUS WORDS. 39 

situation going before, or succeeding it. A good maa 
enjoys tranquillity in himself; peace with others ; and 
calm after the storm. 

Wisdom, prudence. — Wisdom leads us to speak and 
act with propriety. Prudence prevents our speaking 
or acting improperly. A wise man employs the most 
proper means for success; a prudent man the safest 
means to avoid being brought into danger. 

With, by. — Both these particles express the con- 
nexion between some instrument, or means of effecting 
an end, and the agent who employs that instrument or 
those means : with expresses a more close and imme- 
diate connection ; by a. more remote one. The proper 
distinction in the use of these particles is elegantly 
marked in a passage of Dr. Robertson's History of 
Scotland. When one of the old Scotish kings was 
making an inquiry into the tenure by which his nobles 
held their lands, they started up, and drew their 
swords : ** By these/' said they, ** we acquired our 
lands, and with these we will defend them.'' The fol- 
lowing instances will further exemplify the distinction, 
'* He was killed by a stone which fell from the steeple*.** 
— ** He was killed with a stone by Peter."; 



CHAP. 



[ 40 ] 
CHAP. VL 

OF THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

/^F a sentence or period, various definitions have 
been given. According to Aristotle, it is, ** a 
quantity of sound which bears a certain signification 
according to its combination, and of which some de- 
tached part is also significant."* Against this defini- 
tion some objections might perhaps be urged : it is, 
however, sufficient for our present purpose. 

A sentence always implies some one complete propo- 
sition, or enunciation of thought: but every sentence 
does not confine itself to a single proposition. 

A sentence consists of component parts, which are 
tailed its members; and as these members may be 
either few or many, and may be connected in several 
different ways, the same thought, or mental proposition, 
may often be either compressed into one sentence, or 
distributed into two or three, without the material 
breach of any rule. 

Upon surveying the annals of past ages, it seems that the greatest 
geniuses have heen subject to this historical darkness ; as is evident 
in those great lights of ai.tiquity, Homer and Euchd, wiiose writings 
indeed enrich mankind with perpetual stores of knowledge and 
delight; but whose li^'es are for the most part concealed in impe- 
netrable oblivion.— Taj/ Zer's Life of Orpheus, 

The same meaning may thus be expressed in three sen- 

* " Aoyoq 01 Icrrl (pavn <r>j^a>J»xi v.aT:ii av»&ri)i.Y,v, ?^ ruv fxeouv t» 
r>jft«»T»xej' lain >isxfi'fio-(A.ituv,*' — Aristot* de Jnterpretatione, cap. iv, 

tences : 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 41 

tences : ^* Upon surveying the annals of past ages, it 
seems that the greatest geniuses have been subject to 
this historical darkness. This is evidently the case 
with regard to those great lights of antiquity. Homer 
and Euclid. The writings of these illustrious authors 
enrich mankind with perpetual stores of knowledge 
and delight ; but their lives are for the most part con- 
cealed in impenetrable oblivion."' 

With regard to the precise length of sentences, no 
positive rule can be laid down : in this the writer must 
always be regulated by his own taste. A short period 
is lively and familiar : a long period, requiring more 
attention, makes an impression grave and solemn. 
There may be an extreme on either side.* By means 
of too many short sentences, the sense is divided and 
broken, the connexion of thought weakened, and the 

memory 

* A series of short periods produces a very disagreeable effect in 
poetry. The subsequent quotations will justify this assertion. 
So saying they approach'd 
The gate. The centinel, soon as he heard 
Thitherward footsteps, with uplifted lance 
Challenged the darkling travellers. At their voice, 
He draws the strong bolts back, and painful turns 
The massy entrance. To the careful chiefs 
They pass. At midnight of their extreme state 
Counselling they sat, serious and stern. To them 
Conrade. Assembled warriors ! &c. * Southey: 

Nor in the field of war 
The Greeks excel by discipline alone, 
But from their manners. Grant thy ear, O king. 
The diff'rence learn of Grecian bands, and thine. 
The fiow'r, the bulwark ©f thy powVful host 

Are 



42 STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

memory burdened, by being presented with a long- 
succession of minute objects. And, on the other hand, 
by the too frequent use of long periods, an author 
overloads the reader's ear, and fatigues his attention. 
In general, a writer ought to study a due mixture of 
long and short periods, which prevents an irksome 
uniformity, and entertains the mind with a variety of 
impressions. Long sentences cannot be properly intro- 
duced till the reader's attention is completely engaged. 
They ought never to be placed at the beginning of 
discourses of any description. 

The French critics make a proper disti'ibution of 
style into the two general classes of peri'odique and coupe. 
In the siuie periedique^ the sentences are composed of 
several members linked together, and depending upon 
each other, so that the sense is not completely unfolded 
till the close. 

Something of a doubtful mist still hangs over these Highland 
traditions;' nor can it be entirely dispelled by the most ingenious 
researches of modern criticism: but if we could with safety, indulge 
the pleasing supposition that Fingal lived, and that Ossian sung, the 
stiiking contrast of the situation and manners of the contending 
nations might amuse a philosophic mind* The parallel would be 
little to the advantage of the more civilized people, if we compared 
the unrelenting revenge of Severus with the generous clemencyof 
Fingal; the timid and brutal cruelty of Caracalla, with the bravery, 
the tenderness, the elegant genius of Ossian ; the mercenary chiefs 

who 

Are mercenaries. These are canton'd round 
Thy provinces. No fertile field demands 
Their painful hand to turn the fallow glebe. 
~ Them to the noon-day toil no harvest calls. 
The stubborn oak along the mountain's brow 
Sinks not beneath their stroke. With careful eyes 
They m^rk hot how the flocks or heifers feed. Glover^ 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 43 

who, from motives of fear or interest, served under the imperial 
standard, with the freeborn warriors who started to arms at the 
voice of the king of Morven ; if, in a word, we contemplated the 
untutored Caledonians, glowing with the warm virtues of nature, 
and the degenerate Romans, polluted with the mean vices of wealth 
and slavery.— G«i5y?i'5 History of the Roman Empire. 

It is well known that constitutions framed for the preservation of 
liberty, must consist of many parts; and that senates, popular 
assemblies, courts of justice, magistrates of different orders, must 
combine to balance each other, while they exercise, sustain, or check, 
the executive power. If any part is struck out, the fabric must 
totter or fall ; if any member is remiss, the others must encroach. 
In assemblies constituted by men of different talents, habits, 
and apprehensions, it were something more than human that could 
make them agree in every point of importance; having different 
opinions and views, it were want of integrity to abstain from disputes: 
our very praise of unanimity, therefore, is to be considered as a 
danger to liberty. We wish for it at the hazard of taking in its 
place the remissness of men grown indifferent to the public ; the 
venality of those who have sold the rights of their country ; or the 
servility of others, who give implicit obedience to a leader, by whona 
their minds are subdued. The love of the public, and respect to 
its laws, are the points on which mankind are bound to agree ; but 
if, in matters of controversy, the sense of any individual or party is 
invariably pursued, the cause of freedom is already betrayed.— 
Ferguson's History of Civil Society. 

Tills is the more pompous, musical, and oratorical mode 
of composition. 

In the sti/le coupe, the sense is expressed in short 
independent propositions, each complete within itself. 

The women, in their turn, learned to be more vain, more gay, 
and more alluring. They grew studious to please and to conquer. 
They lost somewhat of the intrepidity and fierceness which before 
were characteristic of them. They were to affect a delicacy, and 
a weakness. Their education was to be an object of greater 
attention and care. A finer sense of beauty was to ai'ise. They 

were 



44- STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

were to abandon all employments which hurt the shape and deform 
the body. They were to exert a fancy in dress and ornament. 
They were to be more secluded from observation. A greater play 
was to be given to sentiment and anticipation. Greater reserve was 
to accompany the commerce of the sexes. Modesty was to take 
the alarm sooner. Gallantry, in all its fashions, and in all its charms^ 
was to unfold itself. — Stuai^fs View of Societal/, 

But how can these considerations consist with pride and insolence, 
which are repugnant to every social and virtuous sentiment? Do 
you, proud man ! look back with complacency on the illustrious^ 
merits of your ancestors ? Shew yourself worthy of them by imitating, 
their virtues, and disgrace not the name you bear by a conduct 
unbecoming a man. Were your progenitors such as you are fond 
to represent them, be assured that, if they rose from the grave, they 
would be ashamed of you. If they resembled yourself, you have no 
reason to boast of them, and wisdom will dictate to you to cultivate 
those manners which alone can dignify your family. Nothing can 
be conceived more inconsistent than to exult in illustrious ancestry, 
and to do what must disgrace it, than to mention with ostentation 
the distinguished merits of progenitors, and to exhibit a melancholy 
contrast to them in character. Will you maintain that, because 
your forefathers were good and brave men, you are authorised ta 
abandon the pursuit of all that is decent and respectable ? For, to 
this sentiment, the pride of family, whenever it forms a characte- 
ristical feature, never fails to lead the mind. In a word, considered 
in its specific nature, and carried to its utmost extent, it lays down 
this maxim, " That ancestry gives a right to dishonour and degrade 
itself." 

After alt, what is high birth ? Does it bestow a nature different 
from that of the rest of mankind ? Has not the man of ancient line 
human blood in his veins? Does he not experience hunger and 
thirst? Is he not subject to disease, to accidents, and to death; and 
must not his body moulder in the grave, as well as that of the beggar? 
Can he, or any of his race, " redeem his brother by any means, or 
give God a ransom for him?" Go back only a few generations, of 
which the number is much smaller than you imagine it to be, and 
you arrive at Adam, the progenitor of us all.— Broewn's Sermons, 

This mode of writing generally suits gay and easy 



STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 45 

subjects. It is more lively and striking than the style 
periodlque. According to the nature of the composition, 
and the general character which it ought to bear, the 
one or the other of these may be predominant. But 
in every species of compositipn, they ought to be 
blended with each other. By a proper mixture of 
short and long periods, the ear is gratified, and a cer- 
tain sprightliness is joined with majesty : but when a 
sort of regular compass of phrases is employed, the 
reader soon becomes fatigued with the monotony. A 
train of sentences, constructed in the same nianner, and 
with the same number of members, whether long or 
short, should never be allowed to follow each other in 
close uninterrupted succession. Nothing is so tiresome 
as perpetual uniformity. 

In the construction and distribution of his sentences, 
Lord Shaftesbury has shewn great art. It has already 
been hinted that he is often guilty of sacrificing pre- 
cision of style to pomp of expression ; and that his 
whole manner is strongly marked with a stiffness and 
affectation which render him very unfit to be considered 
as a general model. But, as his ear Avas fine, and as 
he was extremely attentive to every species of elegance, 
he was more studious and successful than any other 
English author in producing a proper intermixture of 
long and short sentences, Avith variety and harmony in 
their structure. 

Having offered these observations with regard to 
sentences in general, I shall now enter upon a parti- 
cular consideration of the most essential properties of 
a perfect sentence. These seem to be clearness and 
precision, unity, strength, and harmony. 

CHAP. 



t 46 ] 



CHAP. VII. 

OF CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN THE 
STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

TN the arrangement of a period as well as in the 
choice of words, the chief object which ought to be 
kept in view is perspicuity. This should never be 
sacrificed to any other beauty. The least degree of 
ambiguity ought to be avoided with the greatest care: 
it is a fault almost sufficient to counterbalance every 
beauty which an author ma37^ happen to possess. Am- 
biguity arises from two causes ;, from an improper choice 
of words, or an improper collocation of them.* The 
first of these cause^s has already been fully considered. 
In the collocation of words, the first thing to be 
studied is a rigid conformity to the rules of grammar, 
as far as these can guide, us. But as the system of 
English grammar is not altogether complete, an ambi- 
guous arrangement of words may frequently be ob- 
served where we cannot discover a transgression of any 
grammatical rule. The relation which the words or 
members of a period bear to each other, cannot be 
pointed out in English, as in Greek and Latin, by 
means of their terminations : it must be ascertained by 
the position in w hich they standi Hence an important 



* The reader will find this subject treated by Condiliac, Traite de. 
VArt d'Ecrire, liv. i. chap, xi, 

rule 



CLEARNESS AND PRECISION. 47 

rule in the structure of a sentence is, that the words 
or members most intimately connected, should be pla- 
ced as near to each other as is consistent with elegance 
and harmony, so that their mutual relation may be 
plainly perceived. 

I. Ambiguities are frequently occasioned by the im- 
proper use of the adverb. This part of speech, as its 
name implies, is generally placed close or near to the 
word which it modifies or affects ; and its propriety 
and force depend on its position. By neglecting to 
advert to this circumstance, writers frequently convey 
a different meaning from what they intend. 

Sixtiis the Fourth was, if I mistake not, a great collector of books 
at least. '—BoUnghroke on the Study of History, 

Jt leasts should not be €onnected with hooks^ but with 
collector. 

The Romans understood liberty, at leasty as well as we.'— Swift 
on the Adv. of Religion, 

These words are susceptible of two different interpre- 
tations, according as the emphasis, in reading them, is 
laid upon libertj/ or at least. In the former case they 
will signify, that whatever other things we may under- 
stand better than the Romans, libertyy at least, was 
one thing which they understood as well as we. In 
the latter they will import, that liberty was understood, 
at leasty as well by them as by us. If this last was the 
author's meaning, the ambiguity would have been avoi- 
ded, and the ^^ense rendered independent of the man- 
ner of pronouncing, by arranging the words thus. 
'* The Romans understood liberty, as well, at least, as 



By 



48 CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN 

By greatness, I do not o^Z?/ mean tbe bulk of any single object, 
but the la,rgeness of a whole view. — Addison^ Spectato7\ 

Here the position of the advevh onli/y renders it a limi- 
tation of the word mean ; as if the author intended to 
say that he did something besides meaning. The am- 
biguity may be removed by the following arrangement ; 
'* By greatness, I do not mean the bulk of any single 
-object only, but the largeness of a whole view." - 

In common conversation, the tone and emphasis 
which we use in pronouncing such words as onh/^ 
wholly, at least, generally serve to shew their reference, 
and to render the meaning clear and obvious : and 
hence we acquire a habit of throwing them in loosely 
in. the course of a period. But, in written discourses, 
which address the eye, and not the ear, greater accu- 
racy is requisite. These adverbs should be so con- 
nected with the words which are meant to qualify, as 
to prevent all appearance of ambiguity. 

ll. Words expressing things connected in the 
thought, should be placed as near together as possible. 
This rule is derived immediately from the principles of 
human nature ; in which we may discover a remarkable 
propensity to place together objects that are in any 
manner connected. When objects are arranged ac- 
cording to their connexions, we have a sense of order: 
when thej^ are placed fortuitously, ^YQ have a sense of 
^disorder. 

The connective parts of sentences are the most im- 
portant of all, and require the greatest care and atten- 
tion j for it is by these chiefly, that the train of thought, 
the course of reasoning, and the w hole progress of the 

the 



THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 49 

tnind, in continued discourse of all kinds, is laid open ; 
xind on the right use of these depends perspicuity, the 
,^reatest beauty of style. 

The bad effect of a violent separation of words or 
members which are intimately connected, will appear 
from the following examples. 

The English are naturally fanciful, and very often disposed, by that 
gloominess and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our na- 
tion, to many wild notions and visions, to which others are not so 
liable.'— Addison y Spectator. 

Here the verb disposed is, by a long clause, violently 
separated from the subject to which it refers. This 
harsh construction is the less excusable, as the fault is 
easily prevented by the following arrangement: *' The 
English are naturally fanciful, and by that gloominess 
^nd melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our 
nation, are often disposed to many wild notions, to 
which others are not so liable." 

No mortal author, in the ordinary fate and vicissitude of things, 
knows to what use his works may, some time or other, be applied. 
■'—Spectator. 

It cannot be impertinent or ridiculous, therefore, in such a coun- 
try, whatever it might be in the abbot of St. Real's, which was Sa- 
▼oy, I think; or in Peru, und^r the Incas, where Garcilasso de la 
Vega says it was lawful for none bujt the nobility to study ; for men 
of all degrees to instruct themselves in those affairs wherein they may 
1)6 actors, or judges of those that act, or controllers of those that 
Judge. — Bolingbroke on the Study of History. 

If Sclpio, who was naturally given to women, for which anecdote 
we have, if I mistake not, the authority of Polybius, as well as some 
verses of Naevius, preserved by Aulus Gellius, had been educated 
fcy Olympias at the court of Philip, it is improbable that he would 
have restored the beautiful Spaniard.— I&ic?. 

May 



50- CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN 

May we not conjecture, for it is but conjecture, something more. 
— Bolinghroke^s Dissert, on Parties. 

The works of Lord Bolingbroke abound with impro- 
per arrangements of this kind. 

The foregoing rule is very frequently transgressed 
in the disposition of pronouns. The relative nJw or 
which, when introduced in order to avoid the repetition 
of the name of some person or thing, ought always to 
be placed as near as possible to the name of that per- 
son or thing. Where it is out of its proper place, Ave 
constantly find something awkward or disjointed in the 
structure of the sentence. 

This kind of wit was very much in vogue among our countrymen, 
about an age or two ago, zcho did not practise it for any oblique rea- 
son, but purely for the sake of being witty. — Addison, Spectator, 

In this sentence the meaning is sufficiently obvious ; 
but the construction would be evidently improved by 
disposing of the circumstance, *' about an age or two 
ago," in such a manner as not to separate the relative 
who from its antecedent countrymen, " About an age 
or two ago this kind of wit was very much in vogue 
among our countrymen, who did not practise it for 
any oblique reason, but purely for the sake of being- 
witty." 

It is folly to pretend to arm ourselves against tlie accidents of life, 
by heaping up treasures, which nothing can protect us against, but 
the gpod providence of our heavenly father. — Sherlock's Sermons. 

This construction implies, that it is treasures, and not 
the accidents of life, from which no mortal can protect 
himself by his own exertions. The sentence ought to 
have stood thus; <* It is folly to pretend, by heaping 

up 



THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 51 

Up treasures, to arm ourselves against the accidents of 
life, against, which nothing can protect us, but the 
good providence of our heavenly father." 

Thus! have fairly given you, Sir, my own opinion, as well as 
that of a great majority of both houses here, relating to tliis weighty 
affair; upon zchich I am confident you may securely reckon. — Suif^i 
en the Saiiramental Test, 

Here the author seems to advise his correspondent to 
reckon upon this weighty affair; though he certainly 
meant that it was the great m.ajority upon which he 
might reckon. The obscurity will be removed by ar- 
ranging the sentence thus: *' Thus, Sir, I have given 
you my own opinion relating to this weighty affair, as 
well as that of a great majority of both houses here ; 
apon which lam confident you may securely reckon." 

I allude to the article Blind in the Encyclopsedia Britannica, 
.published at Edinburgh in the year 1783, which was written by hira. 
— Mackenzie's Life of Blacklock. 

This arrangement leaves nis to suppose that Dr. Black- 
lock was the sole author of a book to w^hich he only 
contributed an essay on blindness. His biographer's 
meaning might have been expressed thus: *' I allude 
to the article Blind, w^hich was written by him, and 
published at Edinburgh m the year 1783, in the Ency- 
■clopaedia Britannica.'^ 

We no where meet with a more glorious and pleasing ^hew in 
nature, than what appears in the heavens at the rising and setting of 
the sun, which is wholly made up of those different stains of light, 
that shew themselves in clouds of a different situation. — Addison, 
Spectator, 

Which is here designed to connect with the word ,^hew, 

as its antecedent ; but it is removed to such a distance, 

that, without a careful attention to the sense, we sfeould 

D be 



52 CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN _ 

be led, by the rules of syntax, to refer it to the rising 
and setting of the sun, or to the sun itself. Hence an 
indistinctness is thrown over the whole sentence. 

From a habit of saving time and paper, which tkey acquired at 
the universitVj they write in so diminutive a manner, with such 
frequent blots and interlineations, that they are hardiy able to go on 
•without perpetual hesitations, or extemporai'y expleiives. — Swlfl^s 
X^etter to a Youiig Gentleman. 

The author certainly does not mean that the clergy- 
men of whom he speaks, had acquired time and paper 
a the university, but that they had there acquired a 
habit of saving time and paper. The sentence ought 
to have run thus : *' From a h^bit which they have ac- 
quired at the university of saving time and paper, they 
"write in so diminutive 9. manner, "with such frequent 
blots,*' &c. 

III. Another great source of ambiguity is the too 
frequent repetition of pronouns, "when we have occa- 
sion to refer to different persons. The subsequent ex- 
amples will serve to iUustrate this observation. 

They were summoned occasionally by their kings, when compel- 
led by their wants and by their fears to have recourse to their aid. 
'— 'Robertson^ s View of Society. 

Men look with an evil eye upon the good taat is in others ; and 
think that their reputation obscures th€m\ and that their commen- 
dable qualities do stand in their light: and therefore they do what 
they can to , cast a cloud over them, that the bright shining of their 
virtues may not obscure them. — TiUotson\ Sermons. 

The earl of Falmouth and Mr. Coventry were rivals, who should 
have most influence with the duke, who loved the earl best, but 
thoupht the other the wiser man, who supported Pen, who disobliged 
all t! e courtiers, even against the earl, zoho contemned Pep as a 
feiiow of no sense. — Clarendons Continuation. 

All which, with the king's and queen's so ample promises to him 
(the treasurer) so few hours bei'orc the conferring the place on ano» 

ther. 



THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 53 

ther, and the duke of York's manner of receiving him (the treasurer) 
after he (the clumcellor) had been shut up with him (the duke) as he 
(the treasurer) was informed, might very well excuse him (the trea- 
surer) from thinking ^e (the chancellor) had some share in the affront 
he (the treasurer) liad undergone. — Ibid, 

Of these sentences, the first three are not involved in 
much obscurity, though they are certainly disagree- 
ble and inelegant ; but the last cannot possibly be un- 
derstood without a careful recollection of the contents 
of several pages preceding. 

IV. A circumstance ought never to be placed be- 
tween two capital members of a period ; for by such 
an arrangement, we are left doubtful to which of the 
two the circumstance refers. But when it is interject- 
ed between parts of the member to which it properly be- 
longs, the ambiguity is removed, and those members 
are kept distinct from each other. 

Let the virtue of ii definition be what it will, in the order of things, 
it seems rather to follow tluin to precede our enquiry, of which it 
aught to be -considered ^s the result.— B^^r/;e on the Sublime and 
beautiful. 

This arrangement leav-es us dubious, whetlier the clause, 
*' in the order of things," refei"^ to what goes before or 
to what follows. The ambiguity may be thus removed ; 
*' Let the virtue of a definition be w^hatit will, it seems, 
in the order of things, rather to follow than to pre- 
cede our enquiry, of which it ought to be considered 
as the result.'* 

The knight, seeing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, 
'find himself in a manner shutout of his own house, upon the death of 
his mother J ordered all the apartments to be flung open, and exor- 
cised by his chaplain. — Addiaon, Spectator. 

This may either imply, that upon the death of his mo- 
ther. 



54 CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN 

ther, the knight was shut out of his own liouse, or that 
upon the death of his mother, he ordered all his apart- 
ments to be exorcised. As the latter was the author's 
meaning, the sentence ought to have stood thus : *' See- 
ing his habitation reduced to so small a compass, and 
himself in a manner shut out of his own house, the 
knight, upon the death of his mother, ordered all the 
apartments to be flung open, and exorcised by his 
chaplain." 

Though our brother is upon the rack, as long as we ourselves are 
at ease, our senses will never inform us of what he suffers. — Smith's 
Theori/ of Moral Sentiments. 

Better thus: '* Though our brother is upon the rack, 
our senses will never, as long as we ourselves are at 
ease, inform us of what he suffers." 

This work in its full extent, being now afflicted with an asthmay 
ayid finding the power oj life gradually declining, he liad no longer 
courage to undertake. — Johnson^ s Life of Savage, 
This construction would lead us to conclude that it 
was the work, and not the poet, that was afflicted with 
an asthma. The following arrangement removes the 
ambiguity : " Being now afflicted with an asthma, and 
finding the powers of life gradually declining, he had 
no longer courage to undertake this work in its full ex- 
tent.'* 

Since it is necessary that there should l)e a perpetual intercourse 
of buying and selling, and dealing upon credit, where fraiid is per- 
mittedor connived at, or hath no law to punish it, the honest dealer 
is always undone, and the knave gets the advantage. — Swift's Tra- 
vels of Gulliver . 

This arrangement conveys the idea that people ^* deal 

upon credit" in those places only " where fraud is 

I per- 



TPIE STRUCTURE OF SENTEXCES, 55 

permitted." The ambiguity might have been avoided 
by the msertion of a few additional S37'llables, *' Since 
it is necessary that there should be a perpetual inter- 
course of buying and selling and dealing upon credit, 
the consequence is, that where fraud is permitted or con- 
nived at, or hath no law to punish it, the honest dealer 
is always undone, and the knave gets the advantage.'* 

. The minister who grows less by his elevation, like a little statue 
on a mighty pedestal, will always have his jealousy strong about him. 
•^Bolinghroke's Dissertation on Parties. 

This construction leaves it doubtful whether the ob- 
ject introduced by way of simile, relate to the subse- 
quent or to the preceding clause. Better thus : *' The 
minister who, like a little statue placed on a mighty 
pedestal, grows less by his elevation, will always have 
his jealousy strong about him.'' 

Instead of being abie to employ troops trained to skill in arms, 
and to military subordination, hif regular discipline, monarchs were 
obliged to depend on such forces as their vassals conducted to their 
standard in consequence of their military tenures. — Robertsons 
View of Society. 

Here the author's meaning is sufficiently obvious ; yet 
from the construction, we might conclude that a little 
regular discipline had been administered to monarchs, 
in order to make them depend on such forces as their 
vassals conducted to their standard. The sentence may 
be thus arranged : " Instead of being able to employ 
troops trained, by regular discipline, to skill in arms, 
and to military subordination, monarchs were obliged 
to depend on such forces as their vassals conducted to 
their standard in consequence of their military te- 
nures," 

We 



66 - CLEARNESS AND PRECISION IN 

Wc shall now endeavour, zvith clearness and preeisiorty to describe' 
the provinces once united under their sway." — Gihhons History of 
the Roman Empire. 

The following airangement removes this ambiguity : 
** We shall now endeavour tw describe with clearness 
and precision^ the provinces once united under their 
sway/* 

Perhaps it may be thought tba.t some of the forego- 
ing objections are too scrupulous, and that the defect 
of perspicuity is easily supplied by accurate punctua- 
tion. It may be granted that punctuation will some- 
times remove an ambiguity ; but it can never produce 
that peculiar beauty which is perceived when the sense 
is clearly and distinctly unfolded by means of a happy 
arrangement. Such influence does this beauty possess, 
that^ by a natural transition of perception, it is commu- 
nicated to the very sound of the words, so as in appear- 
ance to improve the music of the period. 

Having now considered the principal circumstances 
which contribute to perspicuity, and the various modes 
in which the laws relating to it may be transgressed, I 
shall conclude the subject by inquiring whether it be 
possible that this essential quality of style may be car- 
ried to excess. 

It has been alleged that too much perspicuity has a 
tendency to cloy the reader, and that it becomes irk- 
some by affording no opportunity of exertion to the^ 
rational powers of the mind. This objection arises from 
the error of confounding two dissimilar objects, the 
common and the clear, and thence very naturally their 
contraries, the new and the obscure. If you entertain 
your reader solely or chiefly with thoughts which are 

either 



THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 51 

either trite or obvious, he Avill soon be filled with lan- 
guor and disgust. You present no uncommon images 
or sentiments to his mind, you give him little or no 
information; and consequently afford neither exercise to 
his reason, nor entertainment to his fancy. In- what 
we read, and what we hear, we always expect to find 
something with which we were formerly unacquainted. 
And when this expectation is disappointed, we disco- 
ver nothing to repay our attention. We are soon dis- 
gusted with such a trifling minuteness of narration., de- 
scription, or argument, as an ordinary apprehension 
renders superfluous. I'he reason is, not that any thing 
is said Avith too much perspicuity, but that many things 
are said of which no person is ignorant. Thus, when 
Quintus Curtius had informed us that the shouts of the 
Macedonian army were reverberated by the cliffs of 
the mountains, and the vast forests, it was certainly 
very unnecessary to add, " quippe semper circumjecta 
nemora petrsque, quantamcumque accipere vocem, 
multiplicato sono referunt." Reasons that are known 
to every one, ought to be taken for granted : to express 
them is childish, and interrupts the narration. 

The practice of collecting trite maxims and common- 
place sentiments is finely ridiculed in an essay of 
Swift's; from w^hich I shall select one passage: " All 
rivers go to the sea, but none return from it. Xerxes 
wept when he beheld his army ; to consider that in less 
than an hundred years they w^ould be all dead. Ana- 
creon was choqued with a grape-stone; and violent 
joy kills as well as violent grief. There is nothing 
constant in this world but inconstancy ; yet Plato 
thought, that if Virtue would appear in the world in 

her 



58 CLEARNESS AND PRECISION. 

her own native dress, all men would be enamoured 
"vvith her. But now, since interest governs the world, 
and men neglect the golden mean, Jupiter himself, if 
he came on earth, would be despised, unless it were as 
he did to Danae, in a golden shower. For men, now- 
a-days, worship the rising sun, and not the setting.*" 

It is futility in the thought, and not perspicuity in 
the language, which constitutes the fault of such per- 
formances as those to which I have here alluded. Tliere 
is as little hazard that a composition shall be faulty in 
the latter respect, as that a mirror shall be too faithful 
in reflecting the images of objects, or that the glasses 
of a telescope shall be too transparent. At the same 
time, it is not to be dissembled that, with inattentive 
readers, darkness frequently passes for depth. On the 
contrary, to be perspicuoits, and to be superficial, are 
regarded by them as synonymous. But it is not surely 
to their absurd notions that our language ought to be 
adapted. 

Before I dismiss this subject, it may, however, be 
proper to observe that every species of composition 
does not admit of an equal degree of perspicuity. In 
the sublime ode, for example, it is impossible, or at 
least very difficult, to reconcile the utmost perspicuity 
with that force and vivacity which are indispensably 
requisite in such performances. But even in this case, 
though the genius of the higher species of lyric poetry 
may render obscurity to a certain degree excusable, 
nothing can ever constitute it a positive excellence. 

* Swift's Tritical Essay upon the Faculties of the Mind. 

CHAP. 



[ 59 ] 



CHAP. IX. 

OF UNITY IN THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

TN compositions of every description, a certain de- 
gree of unity is absolutely requisite. There must 
always be some leading principle to form a chain of 
connexion between the component parts. In single 
sentences, which are members of a composition, the 
same principle must also be predominant. 

I. Objects that have no intimate connexion should 
never be crowded into one sentence. A sentence or 
period ought to express one entire thought or mental 
proposition ; and different thoughts ought to be sepa- 
rated in the expression, by being placed in different 
periods. It is improper to connect in language things 
which are separated in reality. Of errors against this 
rule I shall produce a few examples. 

In this uneasy state, both of his public and private life, Cicero' 
■was oppressed by a new and cruel affiiction, the death of his beloved 
TuUia; which happened soon afier her divorce from Dolabella, 
whose manners and huinours were entirely disagreeable to her. — 
MiddlelGn's Life of Cicero. 

The principal object in this sen(cnce is the death of 
Tulha, which was the cause of her father's afflicti-on. 
The time when the event took place is, without any 
impropriety, pointed out in the course of the sentence j: 
but the subjunction of Dolabella's character is foreigi> 
to the main object. It breaks the unity and compact- 
D 5 ness 



60 UNITY IN THE STRUCTURE 

ness of the period, by presenting a new picture to the 
reader. 

He is supposed to have fallen, by his father*s death, Into the 
hands of his uncle, a vintner near Charing-cross, who sent hina for 
some time to Dr. Busby, at Westminster; but, not intending to give 
him any education beyond that of the school, took him, when he 
was well advanced in literature, to his own house, where the earl of 
Dorset, celebrated for patronage of genius, found him by chance, as 
Burnet relates, reading Horace, and was so well pleased with his 
proficiency, that he undertook the care and cost of his academical 
education. — Johnson^s Life of Prior. 

This single sentence contains no inconsiderable number 
of the particulars which are known with regard to the 
personal history of Prior. He is conducted from the 
house of his father to that of his uncle; sent to West- 
minster school, where he makes considerable progress 
In literature ; is taken from school, and remains at his 
uncle's ; obtains the patronage of the earl of Dorset, 
who, if Burnet may be credited, found bim reading* 
Horace; and, last of all, is about being sent to the 
ijniversity, under the protection of that nobleman^ 

The usual acceptation takes profit and pleasure for two different 
things, and not only calls the followers or votaries of them by seve- 
ral names of busy and idle nien, but distinguishes the faculties of the 
mind that are conversant about them, calling the operations of the 
first wisdom, and of the other wit, which is a Saxon word, that is 
used to express what the Spaniards and Italians call ingenio, and the 
French e&prttf both from the Latin;: but I think wit more peculiarly 
signifies that of poetry, as rany occur upon remarks on the Runio 
Jauguage. — Temple on Poetry, 

Before the writer arrives at the close of this sentence, 
he seems to have forgot ven what he set out with incul- 
cating, 

A rigl;^ 



OF SENTENCES. 6l 

A right honourable author, having had occasion to 
mention the influence of the sun, expatiates in the fol- 
lowing manner. 

It breaks the icy fetters of the main, where vast sea-monsters 
pierce through floating islands, with arms that can withstand the 
crystal rock; whilst others, who of themselves seem great as islands, 
are by their bulk alone armed against all but man, whose superiority 
over creatures of such size and force, should make him mindful of 
his privilege of reason, and force him humbly to adore the great 
composer of these wondrous frames, and the author of his own su-^ 
perior wisdom. — Shafteshuri/s Moralists. 

At the commencement of this sentence, the sun is in- 
troduced breaking the icy fetters of the main : the sun 
i« succeeded by sea-monsters piercing through floating 
islands with their arms ; and after thesQ have played 
their part, man is brought into view, to receive a long 
and serious admonition. 

To this succeeded that licentiousness which entered with the Re- 
storation; and from infecting our religion and morals, fell to corrupt 
our language: which last was not like to be much improved by those 
who at that time made up the court of king Charles the Second ; 
either such who had followed him in his banishment, or who had been 
altogether conversant in the dialect of those fanatic times ; or youno' 
men, who had- been educated in the same company; so that the 
court, which used to be the standard of propriety and correctness of 
speech, was then, and I think hath ever since continued, the worst 
school in England for that accomplishment; and so will remain till 
better care be taken in the education of our young nobility; that 
they may set out into the world with some foundation of literature, 
in order to qualify titera for patterns of pohteness. — Svuft on th& 
English Tongue, 

How many different facts, reasonings, and observations, 
are here presented to the mind ! 

Authors who are fond of long periods j very frequently 

m 



621 UNITY IN THE STRUCTURE 

fall into errors of this kind. As a proof of this asser- 
tion ^ve need only insjpect the historical works of Bishop 
Biirnet and Lord Clarendon. Even in later and more 
correct writers, we sometimes fi^id a period extended 
to such a length, and comprehending so many particu- 
lars, as more justly to deserve the appellation of a dis» 
course, than of a sentence. But heterogeneous parti- 
culars may occasionally be crowded into periods of no 
uncommon length. The following quotations will il- 
lustrate this observation. 

Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant : also our bed is 
green. — Song of Solomon. 

His own notions were always good ; but he was a man of great 
€xpence. — Burnet's Hi&tory of his own Time. 

I single him out among the moderns, because he had the foolish, 
presumptio)! to censure Tacitus, and to write history himself; and 
your lordship will forgive tliis short excursion in honour of a favourite 
author. — Boiingbroke on the Stud^ of History. 

In serious composition, words conveying physical 
and moral ideas unconnected with each other, ought 
never to be forced into an artificial union. 

Germania omnis a Gallis Rhgjtisque et Pannoniis, Rheno et Da- 
nubio lluniinibus, a Sarmatis Dacisque, mutuo metu aut ynontihm 
separatur. — Tacitus de Morihus Germanorum. 

The alliance of Chosroes king of Armenia, and the long tract of 
mountainous cou.itry, in which the Persian cavalry was of little ser- 
vice, opened a secure entrajice into the heart of Media.— GiWon's 
JUstorj/ of the Boman Empire. 

On every side they rose in multitudes, armed with rustic weapons^ 
and with irresistible fury. — Ibid. 

But when an author wishes to place some object in a 
ladicrcus point of view, a combination of this kind 
nvriy have a good effect. 

On 



OF SENTENCES. 63 

On Va done delivree sur le champ, et de la fosse et de toutes ses 
apprehensions. — Hamilton, Quatre Facardins. 

After much patience, and many a wistful look, Pennant started 
up, seized the wig, and threw it into the fire. It was in flames in a 
moment, and so was the officer, who ran to his sword. — WalpoUuna, 

He is surely much happier in this noble condescension^ and must 
acquire a more perfect knowledge of mankind, than if he kept him- 
self aloof from his subjects, continually wrapt up in in his own im- 
portance and imperial fur. — Mooj^e^s View of Society in France, S{C, 

She even beheved that the journey would prove a remedy for her 
asthmatic complaints ; her desire of a matrimonial establishment was 
full as efficacious as the vinegar of Hannibal, and the Alps melted 
before it. — llaylex/'s Essay on Old Maids. 

Mr. Dennel and Mrs. Albery, who neither of them, at any time, 
took the smallest notice of what she said, passed on, and left the 
whole weight 'both of her person and her complaints to Camilla. — 
D'Arblays Camilla, 

II. Parentheses aught never to be introduced in the 
middle of sentences : and indeed the unity and the 
beauty of a period can never be complete where they 
are introduced in any situation. At present they are 
not so frequently used as they were formerly ; and it is 
to be hoped that the time will arrive when they shall 
be entirely excluded. They are, at best, nothing more 
than a perplexed and awkward method of disposing of 
some thought which the writer wants art to introduce 
in its proper place. In poetical composition, perhaps 
t'hey may occasionally be admitted Avith happy effect ; 
but if they are long or frequent they will be found 
still more disagreeable tlian in prose. The pages of 
Churchill, who displays a strong but rude vein of 
poetry, a.re entangled with innumerable parentheses. 

It seems to me, that in order to maintain the moral system of the 
world at a certain point, far below that of ideal perfection, (for we 



64f UNITY IN THE STRUCTURE 

are made capable of conceiving what we are incapable of attaining) 
but, however, sufficient upon the whole to constitute a state easy and 
happy, or at the worst tolerable; I say, it seems to me, that the 
author of nature has thought fit to mingle from time to time, among 
the societies of men, a few, and but a few, of those on whom he is 
graciously pleased to bestow a larger proportion of the ethereal spirit 
than is given in the ordinary course of his providence to the sons of 
men. — BoUngbroke's Spirit of Patriotism. 

Into this sentence, by means of a parenthesis, and other 
interjected circumstances, the author has contrived to 
thrust so many particulars, that he is obhged to have 
recourse to the sorry phrase I sai/, the occurrence of' 
which may alv^ays be regarded as an infallible mark of 
a clumsy and unskilful construction. Such a phrase 
may be excusable in conversation ; but in polished 
writings, it is altogether unpardonable. 

The most astonishing instance of this respect, so frequently paid* 
to Nothing, is when it is paid (if I may so express myself) to some- 
thing less than Nothing; when the person who receives it is not only 
Toid of the qualities for which he is respected, but is in reality noto- 
riously guilty of vices directly opposite to the virtues, whose applause 
he receives. This is, indeed, the highest degree of Nothing, or, (if 
I may be allowed the word) the Nothingest of all Nothings. — Yield" 
ing-s Essay on Nothing. 

Here the effect of the author's wit would be rendered 
more powerful, by the omission of these qualifying, 
parentheses. Instead of pointing the sentiment, they 
have a quite apposite tendency. In compositions of 
this kind, no apology need be offered for such expres- 
sions as Fielding has here employed* 

The subsequent quotations will farthejr illustrate tlie 
disagreeable effect of parentheses. 

It was an ancient tradition, that when the capitol was founded by 
©ne of the Roman kings, ihe god Terminus (who presided over boun« 

dajies,. 



OF SENTENCES. 65 

darles, and was represented according to the fashion of that age by 
a large stone) alone, among all the inferior deities, refused to yield 
his place to Jupiter himself — Gibbon^s Hist, of the Romrm Ejfipire. 

The description Ovid gives of his situation, in that first period of 
his existence, seems (some poetical embellishments excepted) such 
as, were we to reason ap7iori, we should conclude he was placed' in. 
— Lancaster's Essay on Delicacy. 

When this parliament sate down, (for it deserves our particular 
observation that both houses were full of zeal for the present govern- 
Hient, and of resentment against the late usurpations) there was but 
one party in parliament ; and no other party could raise its head in 
the nation. — Bolingbroke's Dissertation on Parties. 

It will, therefore, be very reasonable to allow on their account as 
much as, added to the losses of the conqueror, may amount to a 
million of deaths, and then we shall see this conqueror, the oldest 
we have on the recards of history (though, as we have observed be- 
fore, the chronology of these remote times is extremely uncertain) 
opening the scene hy a destruction of at least one million of his 
species, unprovoked but by his ambition, without any motives but 
pride, cruelty, and madness, and without any benefit to himself (for 
Justin expressly tells us, he did not maintain his conquests), but 
solely to make so many people, or so distant countries, feel experi- 
mentally, how severe a scourge Providence intends for the human 
race, when he gives one man the power over many, and arras his 
naturally impotent and feeble rage, with the hands of millions, who 
know no common principle of action, but a blind obedience to the 
passions of their ruler. — Burke's Vindication of Natural Society.. 

This work is professedly written in imitation of Lord 
Bolingbroke's style and manner. 

. III. Sentences ought never to be extended beyond 
what seems their natural close. Every thing that is one- 
should have a beginning, a middle, and an end. It 
need not here be observed that, according to the laws 
qf rhetoric, an unfinished sentence is no sentence at all. 
But we freq[uently meet with, sentences which may be 

said 



66 UNITY IN THE STRUCTURE 

said to be more tlian finished. When we have arrived 
at what we expected was to be their conclusion, some' 
circumstance which ought to have been omitted, or to 
have been otherwise disposed of, suddenly presents it- 
self. Such appendages tend very much to destroy the 
beauty and to diminish the strength of a period. 

And here it was often found of absolute necessi.ty to enflame or 
cool the passions of the audience; especially at Rome, where TuUy 
spoke, and with whose writings young divines (I mean those among^ 
them who read old authors) are more conversant than with those of 
Demosthenes; who, by many degrees, excelled the other; at least 
as an orator. — Swift's Letter to a Young Gentleman, 

This is as weak a sentence as could possibly be written. 
But without endeavouring to point out the whole of its 
deformity, I shall only advert to the circumstance for 
which it is here introduced. The natural close of the 
period is at the last semicolon ^ and when we have pro- 
ceeded thus far, we expect no additional information. 
But the halting clause, ** at least as an orator," is un- 
expectedly intruded upon us. 

Speaking of Burnet and Fontenelle : 

The first could not end his learned treatise without a panegyric 
cf modern learning and knowledge in comparison of the ancientj 
«nd the other falls so grossly into the censure of the old poetry, and 
preference of the new, that I could not read either of these strains 
without indignation ; which no quality among men is so apt to raise 
ii\ me as sufficiency, t!ie worst composition out of the pride and igno- ■ 
xance of mankind. — Temple on-Ancient and Modern Learning. 

Of this sentence the word indigiiation forms the natiu'al 
conclusion : what follows is foreign to the proposition 
ivith which the author set out. 

All the world acknowledgeth the ^Eneid to be most perfect in its 
kind; and, considering the disadvantage of the language, and tlie 

severity 



OF SENTENCES. 67 

severity of the Roman Muse, the poem is still more wonderful ; since, 
without the liberty of the Grecian poets, the diction is so great and 
noble, so clear, so forcible and expressive, so chaste and pure, that 
even all the strength and compass of the Greek tongue, joined to 
Homer's iire, cannot give us stronger and clearer iBeas, than the 
great Virgil hath set before our eyes; some few instances excepted, 
in which Homer through the force of genius hath excelled.— jFt/Vo/z's 
Dissertation on the Classics. 

The circumstance so ungracefully appended to this 
sentence might be disposed of in the following man- 
ner : *' All the world acknowledgeth, &c. that, Avith 
the exception of some few instances in which Homer 
through the force of genius hath excelled, eren all the 
strength and compass of the Greek tongue, joined to 
Homer's fire, cannot give us stronger and clearer ideas, 
than the great Virgil hath set before our eyes." 

By way of appendix to this chapter, we may remark 
that it is improper to begin a sentence in such a loose 
manner as appears in the following examples. 

As nothing damps or depresses the spirits like great subjection or 
slavery, either of body or mind ; so nothing nourishes, revives, and 
fortifies them like great liberty. Which may possibly enter among 
other reasons, of what has been observed about long life being found 
more in England, than in others of our neighbouring countries. — ' 
Temple on Health and Long Life. 

For this end 1 propose to-morrow to set out a week's task to my 
labourers, and accept your invitation, if Dion thinks good. To zchich 
I gave consent. — Berkeley's Minute Philosopher. 

So far they oblige, and no farther; their authority being wholly 
founded on that permission and adoption. In which we are not sin- 
gular in our notions. — Blackstone's Commentaries. 

I think it convenient to endeavour, if possible, to remove a vio- 
lent, and, I think, unreasonable prejudice which men have received 
against all those who endeavour to make religion reasonable. As if 
Bellarmine had been in the right, when he said that faith was rather 
to be defined by ignorance than by knowledge.— Ti/Zoison's Sermons^ 



[ ^8 1 



CHAP. X. 

OF STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE OF 

SENTENCES. 

npHE strength of a sentence consists in such a dispa^ 
sit ion of its sevei-al words and members, as shall 
tend most powerfully to impress the mind of the reader 
with the meaning Avhich the author wishes to convey. 
To the production of this effect the qualites of perspi- 
cuity and unity are absolutely req^uisite; but they are 
not of themselves sufficient". For a sentence may be 
possessed of perspicuity and unity, and yet, by some 
unfavourable circumstance in its structure, may be 
destitute of that strength or vivacity of expression 
which a more happy arrangement would have produced. 

I. A sentence ought to be divested of all redundant 
words. These may sometimes be consistent with per- 
spicuity and unit}?^ ; but they are always irreconcilable 
with strength. It is an invariable maxim, that words 
which add nothing to the sense or to the clearness, must 
diminish the force of the expression. 

I look upon it as my duty, so far as God hath enabled me, and as 
long as I keep within the bounds of truth, of duty^ and of decency. 
"^Swift's Letters. 

It would certainly be very strange if any man should 
think it his duty to transgress the bounds of duty. 

How many are there by whom tliese tidings of good nezvs wert 
never heard ! — Bolingbi^oke, Ph. Fr. 

This is tidings of tidings, or news of new5. 

Never 



STRUCTURE QF SENTENCES, 69 

Never did Atticus succeed better in gaining the universal lov* 
and esteem of all men. — Spectator. 

This is so clear a proposition, that I might rest the whole argument 
entirely upon it. — Lijttelton on the Conversion of St, Faul. 

One of the two words printed in Italics may be consi- 
dered as redundant. In the subsequent passage, Lord 
Lyttelton employs a greater superfluity of words: four 
of them may be rejected without any detriment to the 
significancy of the period. 

I shall suppose then, in order to try to account for the vision with- 
eut a miracle, that as Saul and his company were jouraeying alo?ig in 
their way to Damascus, an extraordinary meteor really did happen, 
^Ihid. 

I went home, full of a great many serious reflections. — Guardian, 

It was sufficient to inform us that he went home full 
of serious reflections. 

We may here observe that a principal cause of lan- 
guid verbosity is the injudicious use of adjectives and 
epithets. When used sparingly and Avith judgment, 
they have a powerful influence in enlivening the ex- 
pression ; but nothing has more of an opposite effect 
than a profusion of them. When scattered with toa 
liberal a hand, they lengthen the sentence, without 
adding proportionate vigour ; they betray a violent 
effort to say something great or uncommon. A pro- 
fusion of this kind is one of the principal faults in the 
rich and elegant style of Gibbon, 

Adjectiv^es, however, are not always to be regarded 
as mere epithets. Whatever is necessary for 'ascer- 
taining the import of either a noun or a verb, whether 
by adding to the sense, or by limiting it, is something 
more than an epithet, according to the common accep- 
tation 



70 STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE 

tation of that term. Thus when 1 say ** the glorious 
sun/' the word glorious is an epithet ; it expresses i 
quahty which, being conceived always to belong to the 
object, is, like all its other qualities comprehended in 
the name. But when I say *' the meridian sun," the 
v.'ord 7nericlian is not barely an epithet ; it makes a 
real addition to the signification, by denoting the sun 
to be in the station which he always occupies at noon, 
— A similar distinction is to be made between adv^erb^ 
that are absolutely necessary for the expression of an 
idea, and those which are introduced for the sole pur- 
pose of embellishment. 

11. A sentence ought also to be divested of all redun- 
dant members. Every member should present a new 
thought. Yet v/e sometimes meet with periods in 
which the last member is nothing more than the echo 
of the first, or a repetition of it in a different form. 

The very first discovery of it strikes the mind with inward joy, 
and spreads delight through all its faculties. — Addison, Spectator. 

It is impossible for us to behold the divine works with coldness or 
indifference, or to survey so many beauties, without a secret satis* 
faction and complacency. — Ibid. 

In both these instances, little or nothing is added by 
the second member of the sentence to what was already 
expressed in the first. 

Neither is any condition of life more honourable in the sight of 
God tlian another, otherwise he would be a respecter of persons, 
which he assures us he is not. — Swift's Sermon on Mutual Subjection, 

It is evident that this last clause does not a little ener- 
vate the thought, as it imphes but too plainly, that 
ivithout this assurance from God himself, we should 

naturally 



OF SKNTENCES. 71 

naturally conclude him to be of a character different 
from that which he here receives from the preacher. 

III. In constructing a sentence, particular attention 
should be paid to the use of copulatives, relatives, and 
all the particles employed in transaction and connexion. 
The gracefulness and strength of a period must in a 
great measure depend on words of this description. 
They are the joints and hinges upon which all sentences 
turn. The various modes of using them are so nume- 
rous, that no particular rules respectmg them can be 
formed. AVe must be directed by an attentive consi- 
deration of the practice of standard writers, joined with 
frequent trials of the different effects produced by a 
different application of those particles. Without pre- 
tending to exhaust the subject, I shall here collect a 
few observations which seem to be of importance. 

What is called splitting of particles, or separating a 
preposition from the noun which it governs, ought 
always to be avoided. 

As the strength of our cause doth not depend upon, so neither is 
it to be decided by, any critical points of history, chronology or 
language.— J5cr/ce/eys Minute FhUosopher. 

Socrates was invited ^o,and Euripides entertained at, his court. — 
. Iceland's History ef Philip, 

In such instances, we feel a sort of pain from the 
revulsion, or violent separation of two things which, 
hy their nature, should be closely united. We are 
obliged to rest for some time on the preposition itself, 
which carries no significancy, till it is joined to its 
proper substantive noun. 

Some writers needlessly multiply demonstrative and 
I relative particles, by the frequent use of such phraseo- 
logy 



72 STUENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE 

logy as this: " There is nothing which disgusts ns 
sooner than the empty pomp of language." In intro- 
ducing a subject, or laying down a proposition to which 
we demand particular attention, this sort of style is 
very proper. But in the ordinary current of discourse, 
it is better to express ourselves more simply and briefly : 
^^ Nothing disgusts us sooner than the empty pomp of 
language." 

On the other hand, the relative particles are fre- 
quently omitted, when the author thinks his meaning 
may be understood without them. 

The faith he professed, and which he became an apostle of, was 
not his invention. — Lyiteltonon the Conversion of St. Paid. 
The following arrangement seems more consistent with 
strength as well as elegance : " The faith which he 
professed, and of which he became an apostle, was not 
his invention." 

it appears that numbers of the officers and soldiers in the camp 
of Lepidus were prepared for the part (which) they were to act on 
this occasion. — Ferguson's History of the Roman Republic. 

The sole evidence (which) we can have of the veracity of a histo- 
rian consists in such collateral documents as are palpable to all, and 
can admit of no falsification. — Piiikerton^s Essay on Medals. 

Though this elliptical style be intelligible, and may be 
allowed in conversation and epistolary writing, yet in 
all compositions of a serious or dignified kind, it is 
unbecoming except where we have occasional recourse 
to it; merely for the sake of avoiding the otfreq^uent 
recurrence of who or which. 

With regard to the copulative particle and, several 
observations are to be made. — It is evident, that the 
unnecessary repetition of it enfeebles style;and produces 

an 



OF SENTENCES. 73 

an effect similar to that of the vulgar phrase and so, 
"which occurs so frequently in common conversation.- 

The academy set up by Cardinal Richelieu, to amuse the wits of 
tliat age and countiy^ and divert them from raking into his politics 
iind ministry, brought this in vogue; and the Frencla wits have for 
this last age been in a manner wholly turned to tlie refinement of 
their language, and indeed with such success, that it can hardly be 
excelled, a?id runs equally through their verse a7id their prose. — 
Temple on Poetri/. 

And then those who are of an inferior condition, that they labour 
^nd be diligent in the worlc of an honest calling, for this is privately 
good and profitable unto men, a7id to their families ; and those who 
are above this necessity, an4 are in a better capacity to maintain 
good works properly so called, works of piety, and charity, .and 
justice ; that they be careful to promote and advance them, according 
to their power and opportunity^ because these things are publicly 
good and beneficial to mankind. — Tillotsoyfs Sen7wns.. 

In the first of these sentences_, the conjunction is seven 
limes introduced ; in the last, eleven times. 

A redundancy of copulatives may be proper upon 
fiome occasions. 

Dining one day at an alderman's in the city, Peter observed him 
expatiating after the manner of his brethren, in the praises of his 
sirloin of beef. " Beef (said the sage magistrate) is the king of 
meat. Beef comprehends in it the quintessence of partridge, and 
Cjuaii, and venison, and pheasant, and plumb-pudding, and pustard.'* 
■^Sw.lffs Tale of ri Tub. 

Here the repetition of the conjunctipn qs sufficiently 
characteristic of the drowsy speaker. 

" The army was composed of Grecians, and Carians, and Lycians, 
and Pamphilians, and Phrygians." 

A leisurely survey, which is promoted by the use of so 
many copulatives, makes the parts seem more numerous 
th^n they would appear on a hasty inspection. In the 

latter 



74 STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE 

latter case, the army is viewed as one distinct group : 
in the former, we seem to take an accurate review of 
the respective troops of each nation. 

These are instances in which a multiplicity of con- 
junctions may be used with propriety : but it is also to 
be observed, that the total omission of them often pro- 
vinces a good effect. Longinus observes, that it ani- 
mates a period to drop the copulative* ; and he pro- 
vinces the following example from Xenophon : *' Closing 
their shields together, they were impelled, they fought, 
they slew, they were slainf ". I shall quote an instance 
of the same kind from Caesar: *' Our men, having 
discharged their javelins, attack with sword in hand : 
on a sudden the cavalry make their appearance behind ; 
other bodies of men are seen drawing near; the ene- 
fnies turn their backs; the horsemen meet them in 
their flight ; a great slaughter ensuesj". From these 
observations it will appear, that an attention to the 
several cases when it is proper to omit, and when to 
redouble the copulati^^, is of considerable importance 
to all those who study eloquence. The critics both of 
ancient and modern times have thought the subject 
worthy of their notice. 

IV. In arranging a sentence, the most important 
words ought to be placed in that situation in which 
the}^ will make the strongest impression. Every one 
must perceive that in all sentences there are certain 
words of superior importance : and it is equally obvious 



*■ Longinus de Sublimitate, § xix. 

t Xenophon de Rebus Graecis, lib. iv. nee non Orat. de Agisilao, 

X Caesar de Bello Gallico, lib. vii. 

that 



OF SENTENCES. 75 

that those words should stand in a consj^icuous and 
distinguished place. But the precise station which 
they ought to occupy, cannot be ascertained by any 
general rule. Their position must vary with the 
nature of the sentence. Perspicuity must ever be stu- 
died in the first place ; and the structure of our language 
allows no great liberty in the choice of collocation. 
For the most part, the important words are placed at 
the beginning of the sentence ; as in the following 
examples. 

A modern Italian is distinguished by sensibility, quickness, and 
art, while he employs on trifles the capacity of an ancient Roman; 
and exhibits now, in the scene of amusement, and in search of a 
frivolous applause, that fire, and those passions, witlj which Gracchus 
burned in the forum, and shook the assemblies of a severer peoplCc 
— Ferguson's History of Civil Society. 

The state of society, which precedes the knowledge of an extensive 
-property and the meannesses which flow from refinement and com- 
merce, is in a high degree propitious to women. — Stuarfs View of 
. Society. 

Human society is in its most corrupted state at that period, when 
men have lost their original independence and oim|)licity of manners, 
but have not attained that degree of refinement which introduces a 
sense of decorum and of propriety in conduct, as a restraint on 
tliose passions which lead to heinous cnmes.-^JRobertson^s View of 
Society. 

It seems the most natural order, thus to place in the 
front that which forms the chief object of the propo- 
sition to be laid down. Sometimes, however, it is of 
advantage to suspend the meaning for a while, and 
then unfold it completely at the close of the period. 

Why their knowledge is more than ours, I know not what reason 

can be given, but the unsearchable will of the Supreme Being. 

Joknson^s Rasselas» 

E On 



76 STREN^GTH IN THE STRUCTURE 

On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes 
us, is his wonderful invention. — Pope's Preface to Homer. 

The Greek and Latin authors possessed the liberty 
of inversion in a more eminent degree. The genius of 
the languages in which they wrote, always permitted 
them to chuse the most advantageous situation for 
every word : and this privilege tended greatly to add 
force and vivacity to their sentences^ The more, 
ancient English writers have endeavoured to imitate 
them in this respect ; but their forced and unnatural 
constructions often produce obscurity. Our language 
as it is now^ written and spoken, will not admit such 
liberties. Yet the inverted style may still be employed 
within certain limits. In the following instance an 
- inverted arrangement of words is adopted with evident 
propriety. 

The praise of judgment Virgil has justly contested with him, but 
his invention remains yet unrivalled.— Pope's Preface to Homer. 

It is evident that, in order to give this sentence its due 
force, by properly contrasting the two capital words 
judgment and invention, this is a more happy arrange- 
ment than if the author had thus followed the natural 
order; "Virgil has justly contested with him the 
praise of judgment, but his invention remains yet 
unrivalled.'' 

Such inversions as our language admits, are more 
frequently practised by some writers than by others; 
by Shaftesbury, for instance, much more than by Ad- 
dison. It is to this sort of arrangement that Shaftesbury's 
style is chiefly indebted for its appearance of strength, 
dignity, and varied harmony. But if he has more 
pomp and majesty than Addison, he certainly must be 

allowed 



OF S.ENTENCES. 77 

allowed to possess less ease and simplicity, which are 
beauties highly deserving a writer's attention. 

Whether we practise inversion or not, and in what- 
ever part of the sentence we dispose of the most impor- 
tant words, it is alwaj's a point of great moment, that 
those words stand clear from others which Avould 
entangle them. Thus, when there are any limitations 
of time, or place, or of any other description, which 
the principal object of the sentence requires to have 
connected with it, we must be careful to dispose of 
them, so as to avoid clouding that object, or buryino* 
it under a load of circumstances. This is very happily 
effected in the following quotation, in which the author 
is speaking of modern poets, as compared with the 
ancient. 

If, whilst they profess only to please, they secretly advise, and 
give instruction, they may now, perhaps, as well as formerly, be 
esteemed with justice the best and most honourable among authors« 
—-Shafteshuri/s Advice to an Author, 

This sentence is skilfully constructed. It contains a 
great number of circumstances necessary to qualify 
the meaning ; yet these are placed with so much art, 
that they neither weaken nor embarrass. Let us 
examine what would be the effect of a different arrange- 
ment : *^ If, whilst they profess to please only, they 
advise and give instruction, secretly, they may b3 
esteemed the best and most honourable among authors, 
with justice, perhaps, now, as well as formerly." 
Here we have precisely the same words and the same 
sense ; but, in consequence of the circumstances being 
30 intermingled as to clog the capital words, the whole 

becomes 



78 STRENGTH IN THE STRUCTURE 

becomes perplexed, and totally devoid of grace and 
strength. 

The following sentence contains a great number of 
circumstances disposed with little skill. 

And that it was not peculiar to the gift of language or tongues 
only, to be given at the moment of its exertion, but common 
likewise to all the rest, will be shewn probably, on some other 
occasion, more at large in a particular treatise^ which is already 
tjrepared by me, on that subject. — Middlctons Free Inquiry. 

V. Sentences ought never to be concluded with 
words which make an inconsiderable figure. Such 
conclusions always have the effect of enfeebling anxl 
degrading. There may indeed be sentences in which 
the stress and significanc}^ rests chiefly upon adverbs, 
prepositions, or some other word of the same kind. 
In this case, they ought to have a principal place 
allotted to them. No objection, therefore, can be 
urged against such an arrangement as appears in this 
period: *' In their prosperity, my friends shall never 
hea" of me ; in their adversity always." Here the 
adverb always , being an emphatical word, is so placed, 
as to make a strong impression. The subsequent 
quotation furnishes an instance of the same kind. 

I sat in my old friend's seat; T heard the roar of mirth and gaiety 
around me: poor Ben Silton ! I gave thee a tear then: accept of 
one cordial drop that falls to thy memory noic. — Mackenzie's Man 
of Feeling. 

But in the following examples, we find words of a 
like description occupying the same station, without 
any acknowledged right to such distinction. 

This agreement of mankind is not confined to the taste solely.-^ 
Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful. 

The 



OF SENTENCES. 79 

The other species of motion are incidentally blended also. — 
Harris's Thilo&ophical Arrangements. 

He thinks it inach more Ukely that such a system should continue 
to be admired and praised in idea, than established in fact; and if 
it happens ever to be estabhshed, he does not imagine it can be 
supported long. — BoUngbroke^s Dissertation on Parties. 

Since my late arrival in Ireland, I have found a very unusual, but, 
I doubt not a very just, complaint concerning the scarcity of money; 
which occasioned many airy propositions for the remedy of it, and 
among the rest that of raising some, or all of the coins here. — Temple 
on the Advancement of Trade. 

We should particularly avoid concluding a period 
with prepositions which mark the cases of nouns, or 
•which are combined with verbs. It would have a very 
disagreeable efteet to say, " Avarice is a crime which 
men Avho pass for wise, are often guily of." Such 
phraseology ought on no occasion to be adopted. For, 
besides the want of dignity which arises from those 
monosyllables being placed at the close, the mind 
cannot avoid resting for a little upon the word which 
concludes the sentence: and, as these preposition^ 
bav^e no import of their own, but merely serve to point 
out the relation of other words, it is disagreeable thus 
to be left pausing on a word which of itself cannot 
produce any idea, or present any picture to the fancy. 

I therefore thought it necessary to fix and determine the notion of 
of thes€ two words, as I intend to make use of them in the thread of 
my following speculations, that the reader may conceive rightly 
what is the subject which I proceed upon. — Addison, Spectator. 

There needs no more than to make such a registry only voluntary, 
to avoid all the difficulties that can be raised, and which are not too 
captious, or too trivial to take notice of. — Temple o;i Popular 
Discontents. 

By these means the country loses the expence of many of the 

richest 



80 STRENGTH IN" THE STRUCTURE 

richest persons or families at home, and mighty sums of money must 
needs go over from hence into England, which the great stock of rich 
native commodities here can make the only amends ybr.—Tewp/e on 
the Advancement of Trade. 

But it is absurd to think of judging either Ariosto or Spenser by 
precepts which they did not attend to. — Warton's Observations on 
Spenser. 

No one pretends to be a judge in poetry or the fine arts, who has 
not both a natural and cultivated relish for them; and shall the 
narrow-minded children of earth, absorbed in low pursuits, dare to 
treat as visionary, objects which they have never made themselves 
acquainted with ? — Barhauld on the Devotional Taste. 

The pronoun it ouglit as seldom as possible to be 
placed at the close of a sentence. When it imme- 
diately succeeds a verb, its effect is not so disagreeable; 
but when joined with a preposition, it is intolerable. 

When you are pinched with any former, and yet unrepealed act 
of parliament, you declare, that, in some cases, you will not be 
obliged by it. — Dryden^s Epistle to the Whigs, 

I would humbly offer an amendment, that instead of the word 
Christianity, may be put religion in general; which, I conceive, will 
mnch better answer all the good ends proposed by the projectors 
of it.'— Swiff s Argument against Abolishing Ch?nstia7iity. 

Every nature you perceive, is either too excellent to want it, or 
too base to be capable of it. — Harris's Dialogue concerning Art. 

Although it is not always necessary, that every thing advanced by 
the speaker, should convey information to the hearer, it is necessary 
that he should believe himself informed by what is said, ere he can 
be convinced or persuaded by it. — CampbeWs Philosophy of Rhetoric, 

It is surprising that writers who have paid the small- 
est attention to elegance, should allow the word it to 
conclude two successive periods. Yet instances of 
this kind sometimes occur. 

In like manner, if a person in broad day light were falling asleep, 
to introduce a sudden darkness would prevent his sleep for that 

time, 



OF SENTENCES. 81 

time, though silence and darkness in themselves, and not suddenly 
introduced, are very favourable to it. This I knew only by conjec- 
ture on the analogy of the senses when 1 first di.s!;ested these obser- 
vations; but I have since experienced it. — Burke on the Subli?ne 
and Beautiful. 

The general idea of good or bad fortune, therefore, creates some 
concern for the person who has met with it; but the general idea of 
provocation excites no sympathy with the anger of the man wlio 
has received it. Nature, it seems, teaches us to be more averse to 
enter into this passion, and, till informed of its cause, to be disposed 
rather to take part against it. — Smith's Theory of Mortal Sentimejits. 

VI. In the members of a sentence where two objects 
are either compared or contrasted, some resemblance 
in the language and construction should be preserved. 
To illustrate this rule, I shall produce various instances 
of deviations from it ; beginning with resemblances 
expressed in words which have no resemblance. 

I have observed of late, the style of some great ministers very 
much to exceed that of any otiier productions, — Swift on the Engliah 
Tongue, 

Instead of productions, which bear no resemblance to 
ministers great or small, the author ought to have 
employed the word writers or authors. 

I cannot but fancy, however, that this imitation, which passes so 
currently with other judgments, must at some time or other have 
stuck a little with your lordship .—-Shaft eshury on Enthusiasm. 

This sentence ought to have stood thus : ^' I cannot 
but fancy, however^ that this imitation, which passes 
so currently with others, must at some time or other 
have stuck w'lih your lordship.'*'' 

It is a still greater deviation from congruity, to affect 
not only variety in the words, but also in the con- 
struction. There is a fault of this kind in the following 
sentence, in which the author is speakings of Shakspeare. 

There 



b2 STREN^GTH IN THE STRUCTURE 

There may remain a suspicion rhat we over-rate the greatness of 
his genius, in the same manner as bodies appear more gigantic on 
account of their being disproportioned and mis-shapen, — Hume's 
History of England. 

This is studying variety where the beauty lies in uni- 
formity. The sentence might have been constructed 
in this manner: *^ There may remain a suspicion that 
we over-rate the greatness of his genius, ,in the same 
manner as we over-rate the greatness of bodies that are 
disproportioned and mis-shapen" 

Attention should also be paid to the length of mem- 
bers which signify the resembhng objects. To produce 
a resemblance between such members, they ought not 
only to be constructed in the same manner, but also to 
be as nearly as possible of the same length. By ne- 
glecting this circumstance, the subsequent example is 
rendered liable to exception. 

As the performance of all other religious duties will not avail in 
the sight of God, without charity ; so neither will the discharge of 
all other ministerial duties avail in the sight of men, without a faithful 
discharge of this principal duty. — Bolingbroke's Dissertation on 
Parties, 

In the following passage, all the errors are accumu- 
lated which a period expressing a resemblance can 
well admit. 

Ministers are answerable for every thing done to the prejudice of 
the constitution, in the same proportion as the preservation of the 
constitution in its purity and vigour, or the perverting and weakening 
it, are of greater consequence to the nation, than any other instances 
of good or bad goycrnment.— Bolingbroke's Dissertation on Parties. 
As resemblance ought to be studied in the words 
which express two resembhng objects^ so. opposition 
ouo-ht to be studied in the words which express two 
contrasted objects. The following examples contam 
deviations from this rule. 



OF SENTENCES. 83 

A friend exaggerates a man's virtues, an enemy inflames his 
crimes. — Addison, Spectator. 

Here the opposition in the thought is neglected in the 
words, which at first view seem to import, that the 
friend and the enemy are employed in different matters, 
without any relation to each other, whether of resem- 
blance or of opposition. The contrast will be better 
marked by expressing the idea as follows : *' A friend 
exaggerates a man's virtues, an enemy his crimes.'' 

The wise man is happy when he gains his own approbation; the 
fool when he recommends himself to the applause of those about 
hi m. — Spectator. 

This sentence might have stood thus : '* The wise man 
is happy when he gains his own approbation ; the fool 
when he gains that of others." 

The laughers will be for those who have most wit: the serious 
part of mankind for those who have most reason on their side, 
'—BoUnghroke's Dissertation on Parties. 

The opposition would have been more completely ex- 
pressed in this manner : ** The laughers will be for 
those who have most ^yit *, the serious, for those who 
have most reason on their side." 

In the following passage, we find two great poets very 
skilfully contrasted with each other. 

Homer was the greater genius ; Virgil the better artist ; in the 
one, we must admire the man, in the other the work. Homer hurries 
us with a commanding impetuosity; Virgil leads us with an attrac- 
tive majesty. Homer scatters with a generous profusion; Virgil 
bestows with a careful magnificence. Homer, like the Nile, pours 
out his riches with a sudden overflow; Virgil, like a river in its 
banks, with a constant stream. — Pope^s Preface to Homer. 
This picture, however, would have been more finished, 
if to the Nile some particular river had been opposed. 
E 5 



[ 84 ] 



CHAP. XI. 

OF HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE OF 
SENTENCES. 

A LTHOUGH sound is a quality of much less im- 
portance than sense, yet it must not be altogether 
disregarded. For as sounds are the vehicle of our 
ideas, there must always be a pretty intimate con- 
nexion between the idea which is conveyed, and the 
sound which conveys it. Pleasing ideas can hardly be 
transmitted to the mind by means of harsh and dis- 
agreeable sounds. At these the mind immediately re- 
volts. Nothing can enter into the affections which 
stumbles at the threshold by offending the ear. Music 
has naturally a great power over all men to prompt 
and facilitate certain emotions : insomuch that there 
are scarcely any dispositions which we wish to raise in 
others, but certain sounds may be found concordant 
to those dispositions, and tending to excite and pro- 
mote them. Language is to a certain degree possessed 
of the same power. Not content with simply inter- 
preting our ideas to the hearer, it can communicate 
them inforced by corresponding sounds ; and to the 
pleasure of imparted knowledge, can add the new and 
separate pleasure of melody. 

In the harmony of sentences, two things may be con- 
sidered ; agreeable sound, or modulation, in general 
without any particular expression, and sound so ordered 
as to become expressive of the sense. 

2 Let 



HARMOXY OF SENTENCES. 85 

Let US first consider sound, in general, as the pro- 
perty of a well-constructed sentence. The musical 
cadence of a sentence will depend upon two circum- 
stances ; the choice of words, and the arrangement of 
them. 

With regard to the choice of words, little can be 
said, unless we were to descend into a tedious and fri- 
volous detail concerning the powers of the several 
Jetters, or simple sounds, of which speech is composed. 
It is evident that those words are most agreeable to the 
ear which are composed of smooth and liquid sounds, 
where there is a proper intermixture of vowels and 
consonants, without too many harsh consonants clash- 
ing with each other, or too many open vowels in suc- 
cession, to cause a hiatus or disagreeable aperture of 
the mouth. It may always be assumed as a principle^ 
that whatever words are difficult in pronunciation, are, 
in the same proportion, harsh and painful to the ear. 
Vowels add softness, consonants strength, to the sound 
of words. The melody of language requires a due 
proportion of both, and will be destroyed by an excess 
of either. Long words are commonly more agreeable 
to the ear than monosyllables. They please it by the 
succession of sounds which they present : and accord- 
ingly the most musical languages possess them in the 
greatest abundance. Among words of any length, 
those are the most musical which do not wholly consist 
either of long or short syllables, but contain a due in- 
termixture of both. 

The harmony which results from a proper arrange- 
ment of the words and members of a period, is a more. 

complex 



86 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE 

complex subject. However well chosen and well- 
sounding the words themselves may be, yet if they be 
ill-disposedj the music of the sentence is utterly lost. 
In the harmonious arrangements of his periods, no 
writer, ancient or modern, can be brought into com- 
petition with Cicero. He has studied this with the 
utmost care; and w^as fond, perhaps to excess, of what 
he calls the *' plena ac numerosa oratio." We need 
only open his writings, to find instances that will ren- 
der the effect of musical cadence sensible to every ear. 
And in our owai language, the following passage may 
be quoted as an instance of harmonious construction. 

We shall conduct you to a hill-side, laborious, indeed, at the first 
ascent; but else so smootii, so green, so full of goodly prospects, and 
melodious sounds on every side, that the harp of Orpheus ^^ as not 
niore charming. — Milton's Tractate of Education. i 

Every thing in this sentence conspires to promote 
the harmony. The words are happily chosen, being 
full of soft and liquid sounds ; laborious, smooth, greeiiy 
goodly, melodious, charming: and these words are so 
skilfully arranged, that, were we to alter the collocation 
of any one of them', the melody w^ould sustain a sensible 
injury. The members of the period sw^ell beautifully 
above each other, till the ear, prepared by this gradual 
rise, is conducted to that full close on which it always 
rests with pleasure. 

The structure of sentences, then, being susceptible 
of very considerable melody, our next enquiry should 
be, how this melodious structure is formed, what are its 
principles, and by what law it is regulated. This sub- 
ject has been treated w^ith great copiousness by the an- 
cient 



-OF SEN^TEXCES. 87 

cient critics.* But the languages of Greece and Rome 
were more susceptible than ours, of the graces and 
powers of melody. The quantities of their syllables 
were more fixed and determinate ; their words were 
longer, and more sonorous ; their method of varying 
the terminations of nouns and verbs both introduced a 
greater vai-iety of liquid sounds, and freed them from 
that multiplicity of little auxiliary words which we are 
under the necessity of employing ; and, what is of the 
greatest consequence, the inversions which their lan- 
guages allowed, gave them the power of placing their 
words in whatever order was most suited to a musical 
arrangemeiit. In consequence of the structure of their 
languages, a.nd of their manner of pronouncing them, 
the musical cadence of sentences produced a greater 
eflect in public speaking among them, than it could 
possibly do in any modern oration. It is further to be 
observed, that for every species of music they had a 
finer relish than prevails among us : it was more gene- 
rally studied, and applied to a greater variety of ob- 
jects. Our northern ears are too coarse and obtuse. 
And by our simple and plainer method of pronuncia- 
tion, speech is accompanied with less melody than it 
was among the Greeks and Romans. 
, For these reasons, it would, be fruitless to bestow 
the same attention upon the harmonious structure of 
our sentences, as was bestowed by those ancient na- 
tions. The doctrine of the Greek and Roman critics, 

• The reader may consult Dionysius De Structured Orationis, 
Demetrius "i)e Elocutione^ Cicero De Oratorey and Quintilian De 
ItiStitutwnc Oratoria^ 

on 



88 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURC 

on this head, has induced some to imagine, that our 
prose writings may be regulated by spondees, and 
trochees, iambuses and paeons, and other metrical feet.* 
But, to refute this notion, nothing further is necessary 
than its being appHed to practice. 

Although this musical arrangement cannot be re- 
duced to a system, yet it demands a very considerable 
share of attention. It is chiefly owing to the neglect 
of it, that British eloquence still remains in a state of 
infancy. The growth of eloquence, indeed, even in 
those countries where she flourished most, has ever 
been very slow. Athens had been in possession of all 
other polite improvements long before her pretensions 



* Some writers have also supposed tliat the English language 
would admit of the m^^asures of Greek and Latin poetry. " It is 
icnpossible/' snys Mr. Goldsmith, " that the same measure, com- 
posed of the same times, should have a good effect upon the ear in 
one language, and a bad effect in another. The truth is, we have 
been accustomed from our infancy to the numbers of English poetry, 
and th€ very sound and signification of the words disposes the ear to 
receive them in a certain manner; so that its disappointment must 
be attended with a disagreeable sensation. In imbibing the first ru- 
diments of education, we acquire, as it were, another ear for the 
numbers of Greek and Latin poetry, and this, being reserved en- 
tirely for the sounds and significations of the words that constitute 
those dead languages, will not easily accommodate itself to the 
sounds of our vernacular -tongue, though conveyed in the same tim$ 
and measure. In a word, Latin and Greek have annexed to them 
the ideas of the ancient measure, from which they are not easily dis- 
joined. But we will venture to say, this difficulty might be sur- 
mounted by an effort of attention, and a little practice; and in that 
case we should, in time, be as well pleased with the English as with 
Latin hexameters.— JEssaj/5, voL ii, essay xix. 

to 



OF SENTENCES. 89 

to the persuasive arts were in any degree considerable: 
and the earHest orator of note among the Romans did 
not appear sooner than about a century before Cicero. 

That great master of persuasion,' taking notice of this 
remarkable circumstance, assigns it as an evidence of 
the superior difficulty of his favourite art. There may 
be some truth in the observation : but whatever the 
cause may have been, the fact is undeniable. Accord- 
ingly eloquence has by no means made equal advances 
in our own country, with her sister arts : and though 
we have seen many excellent poets, and a few good 
painters, arise among us, yet our nation can boast of 
very few accomplished orators. This circumstance will 
appear more surprising, wdien it is considered that we 
liave a profession set apart for the purposes of persua- 
sion ; a profession which is conversant in the most ani- 
mating topics of rhetoric. 

Among the principal defects of our British orators, 
their general disregard of harmony has been least ob- 
-served. It would be injustice, indeed, to deny that we 
have some oratorical performances tolerably musical ; 
but it must be acknowledged that, for the most part, 
this is more the effect of accident than design, and ra- 
ther to be attributed to the power of our language, than 
to the skill of our orators. 

Archbishop Tillotson, who is frequently mentioned 
as having carried this species of eloquence to its highest 
perfection, seems to have no kind of rhetorical num- 
bers : and no man had ever less pretension to genuine 
oratory, than this celebrated preacher, If any thing 
could raise a flame of eloquence in the breast of an 
orator, there is no occasion on which it would be more 

likely 



90 IIAllMO^^Y IN THE STRUCTURE 

likely to break out, than in celebrating departed me- 
rit: yet the two sermons which he preached upen the 
death of Dr. Gooch and of Dr. Whitcot, are as cold 
and languid performances as were ever produced on 
such an animating subject. It is indeed to be regret- 
ted, that he who abounds with such noble and generous 
sentiments, should want the art of displaying them to 
their full advantage ; that the sublime in morals should 
not be attended with a suitable elevation of lanouao^e. 
His words are commonly ill-chosen, and always ill- 
placed ; his periods are both tedious and inharmonious; 
as his metaphors are generally mean, and sometimes 
ridiculous. It were easy to produce numberless in- 
stances of the truth of this assertion. Thus in his ser- 
mon preached before the princess of Denmark, he talks 
of squeezing a parable, sharking shifts^ thrusting reli- 
gion b^/, driving a strict bargain with God ; and, speak- 
ing of the day of judgment, describes the world as 
cracking about our ears. In justice to the oratorical 
character of this most valuable prelate, it must however 
be acknowledged that there is a noble simplicity in 
some few of his sermons. His Discourse on Sincerity^ 
deserves to be mentioned with peculiar applause. 

But to shew his deficiency in the quality of which I 
am now treating, the following quotation will be suf- 
ficient. 

One might be apt to think at first view, that this parable was 
overdone, and wanted something of a due decorum; it being hardly 
credible, that a man, after he had been so mercifully dealt zcithal^ 
as, upon his humble request, to have so huge a debt so freely for- 
given, should, whilst the memory of so much mercy was fresh upon 
him, even in the very next moment, handle his fellow servant, who 
had made the same humble request to him which he had done to his 

lord, 



OF SENTENCES. ^1 

lord, with 30 much roughness and cruelty, for so inconsiderable a 
sum. — Tillotsons Sermons, 

Not to mention other objections which might be raised 
against this period, it is harsh and unmusical through- 
out. The concluding members, which ought to have 
been full and flowing, are most miserably loose and 
disjointed. If the delicacy of Cicero's ear was so ex- 
quisitely refined, as not always to be sati-sfied even with 
the numbers of Demosthenes, how would it have been 
offended by the harshness and dissonance of so unhar- 
monious a sentence 1 * 

Nothing tends to throw our eloquence at a greater 
distance from that of the ancients, than this Gothic ar- 
rangement ; as those wonderful effects which sometimes 
attended their elocution were, in all probability, chiefly 
owing to their skill in musical concords. It was by the 
charm of numbers, united with the strength of reason, 
that Cicero confounded the audacious Catiline, and si- 
lenced the eloquent Hortensius. It was this that de- 
prived Curio of all power of recollection, when he rose 
up to oppose that great master of rhetoric ; it was this 
that made even Caesar himself tremble; nay, what is 
yet more extraordinary, made Caesar alter his deter- 
mined purpose, and acquit the man wdiom he had re- 
solved to condemn. 

It will not be suspected that too much is here attri- 
buted to the powder of numerous composition, when we 
recollect an instance which Cicero produces of its won- 
derful effect. He informs us that he was himself a 
witness of its influence as Carbo was once haranguing 

* See Mr. Mitford's Essay on the Harmony of Language, p. 201. 

tlm 



92 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE 

she people. It was astonishing, says he, to observe 
the general applause which burst from the assembly 
when that orator pronounced the following sentence : 
** Patris dictum sapiens temeritas filii comprobavit." 
These words, perhaps, will not greatly affect a modern 
ear ; and indeed it is probable that we are ignorant of 
the art of pronouncing the period with its genuine em- 
phasis and cadence. We are certain,- however, that 
the music of it consisted in the dichoree with which it is 
terminated ; for Cicero himself assures us that if the 
final measure had been changed, and the words placed 
in a different order, their effect would have been en- 
tirely destroyed. 

The art of numerous arrangement was introduced 
among the Greeks by Thrasymachus, though some of 
the admirers of Isocrates attributed the invention to the 
latter. It does not appear to have been studied by the 
Romans until about the age of Cicero ; and even then 
it was by no means universally received. The ancient 
mode of composition had still many admirers, who were 
such enthusiasts with regard to antiquity, that they 
adopted her very defects. A disposition of the same 
kind may perhaps prevent its being much cultivated in 
Britain ; and while Tillotson shall maintain his authority 
as an orator, it is not to be expected that any great ad- 
vances Avill be made in this species of eloquence. That 
strength of understanding, and solidity of reason, which 
forms so conspicuous a part of the national character, 
may also serve to encrease the difficulty of reconciling 
us to a study of this kind; as at first glance it may 
seem to lead an orator from his grand and principal 
aim, and tempt him to make a sacrifice of sense to 

sound. 



OF SEXTENCES. Q3 

sound. It must be acknowledged, indeed, that In the 
times which succeeded the dissolution of the Roman 
republic, this art was so perverted from its true end, as 
to become the sole study of their enervated orators. 
Pliny the younger often complains of this contemp- 
tible affectation ; and the polite author of that elegant 
dialogue which, wdth very little probability, is attri- 
buted either to Tacitus or Quintilian, assures us it was 
the ridiculous boast of certain orators in the time of 
the declension of genuine eloquence, that their ha- 
rangues were capable of being set to music, and sung 
upon the stage. But it must be remembered that the 
true art now recommended, is designed to aid, not to 
supersede, reason : it is so far from being necessarily 
effeminate, that it adds not only grace but strength to 
the powers of persuasion. Cicero and Quintilian have 
laid it down as an invariable rule, that numerous com- 
position must never appear the effect of labour in the 
orator ; that the tuneful flow of his periods must always 
seem the result of their casual disposition ; and that it 
is the highest offence against the art, to weaken the 
expression for the sake of giving a more musical tone 
to the cadence. 

There are two circumstances on which the music of 
a sentence chiefly depends ; the proper distribution of 
its several members, and the close or cadence of the 
whole. 

Whatever is easy and agreeable in the pronunciation, 
has always a grateful sound to the ear : and that which 
is difficult in the pronunciation, can never be possessed 
of melody. The facility w-ith w^hich any sentence is 
recited, must, in a great measure, depend upon the 

proper 



94 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE 

proper disposition of the pauses. They ought to be so 
distributed, as to render the course of the breathing 
easy, and at the same time should fall at such distances, 
as to bear a certain muf^ical proportion to eacli other. 
This rule will be best illustrated by examples. 

This discourse concerning the easiness of God's comniands does, 
all along, suppose and ackiiowledge the difficulties of the first en- 
trance upon a religious course; except, only in those persons who 
have had the happiness to be trained up to religion by the easy and 
insensible degrees of a pious and virtuous education. — Tillotson's 
Sermons. 

This sentence is in some degree harsh and unpleasant; 
it contains no more than one considerable pause, which 
falls between the two members ; and each of those 
members is so long, as to occasion a difficulty in breath- 
ing while it is pronounced. The following are instances 
of a different kind. 

By smoothing those inequalities, which the necessary difference 
of ranks and conditions has introduced into society, she not only re- 
conciles us to the highest eminences of life, but leads us to consider 
them as affording to the social world, that sublime contrast which the 
landscape derives from the diversity of hill and dale, and as sending 
down those streams of benignity which refresh and gladden the lower 
stations. — Brounis Sermons. 

When thine aching eye shall look forward to the end that is far 
distant; and when behind thou shalt find no retreat; when thy 
steps shall faulter, and thou n shalt tremble at the depth beneath, 
which thought itself is not able to fathom; then shall the angel of 
retribution lift his inexorable hand against thee; from the irremea- 
ble way shall thy feet be smitten ; thou shalt plunge into the burn- 
ing flood, and though thou shalt live forever, thou shalt rise no more. 
'—Hawkesioortli's Almoimn and Hamet, 

Porticoes, which had withstood the assaults of time more than 
two thousand years; broken columns of different lengths, rising at a 
coiisiderable distance within the limits of the same pile; sculptured 

portals, 



OF SENTENCES. Qo 

portals, through whose frownino; arches the winds pas!:ed with a !io!- 
low murmuring; numberless figures engraven on tlic pilasters of those 
portals, and multitudes of hieroglyphics on the different parts of tlie 
spacious ruin; gave the travellers a mournful and magnificent idea 
of the pristine grandeur of this edifice. — Langhome^ Soli/man and 
A hi en a. 

Here every thing is flowing and eas}-. The members 
of the sentences bear a just proportion to each other : 
and the reader, therefore, never experiences any diffi- 
culty of breathing, 

The next subject which claims our attention is, the 
close or cadence of the whole sentence, which, as it is 
always the part most sensible to the ear, demands the 
greatest care. Upon it the mind pauses and rests : it 
ought therefore to contain nothing harsh or abrupt. 
When we aim at dignity or elevation, the sound should 
be made to swell gradually to the end : the longest 
members of the period, and the fullest and most sono- 
rous words, should be reserved for the conclusion. 
The following sentence is constructed in this manner. 

It firis the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses with 
its ol)jects at the greatest distance ; and continues tlie longest in 
action, without being tired or satiated with its proper enjo^'ments.— 
Addison, Spectator. 

Here every reader must be sensible of a beauty, both 
* in the division of the members and pauses, and the 
manner in which the sentence is rounded, and con- 
ducted to a full and harmonious close. *' Mr. Addi- 
-son's periods, and members of periods," says Mr. 
Mitford, " mostly end with the unaccented hyper- 
rhythmical syllable, and scarcely ever with a strong 
accent, except wdiere emphasis gives importance to 
such a conclusion. The graceful flow so much admired 



96 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE 

in his writings, is not a little owing to this circumstance. 
His language seems always united like water, by the 
aptitude of its parts to coalesce, and never wears the 
appearance of being forcibly held together."* 

A falling off towards the end always produces a 
disagreeable effect. For this reason, pronouns and 
prepositions are as unpleasant to the ear, as they are 
inconsistent with strength of expression. The sense 
and the sound seem to have a mutual influence on each 
other : that which offends the ear, is apt to mar the 
strength of the meaning; and that which really de- 
grades the sense appears also to have a bad sound. It 
may be affirmed in general that a musical close, in our 
language, requires either the last, or the last but one, 
to be a long syllable. Words which consist mostly of 
short syllables, as contrary^ retrospect, particular, 
seldom conclude a sentence harmoniously^, unless a 
succession of long syllables has rendered them agreeable 
on account of the variety which they introduce. 

It is necessarj', however, to observe that sentences 
so constructed as to make the sound always swell 
towards the end, and to rest upon syllables of a cer- 
tain description, give a discourse the tone of decla- 
mation. The ear soon becomes acquainted with the 
melody, and is apt to be cloyed with monotony. If 
we would keep alive the attention of the reader or 
hearer, if we would preserve vivacity and strength in 
our composition, we must be solicitous to vary our 
measures. This observation regards the distribution 
of the members, as well as the cadence of the period. 



* Mitford's Essay on the Harmony of Language, p. 203. 

Sentences 



I 



OF SENTENCES. 97 

Sentences constructed in a similar manner, witli the 
pauses falling at equal intervals, should never follow 
each other. Short and long sentences ought to be 
properl}^ intermixed, in order to render discourse 
sprightly, as well as magnificent. Monotony is the 
great error into which those writers are apt to fall, 
who study harmonious arrangement. A very vulgar 
ear will enable an author to catch some kind of melody^, 
and to form all his sentences according to it: but this 
oft-recurring modulation will soon produce satiety 
and disgust. A just and correct ear is requisite for 
diversifying the melody ; and hence we do seldom 
meet with authors remarkably happy in this respect. 

Though the music of sentences demands a very con-, 
siderable degree of attention, yet this attention must 
be confined within moderate bounds. Every appear- 
ance of affectation of harmony is disagreeable ; espe- 
cially if the love of it betray us so far as to sacrifice 
perspicuity, precision, or strength of sentiment, to 
sound. All unmeaning words, introduced merely to 
round the period, or complete the melody, are great 
blemishes in writing. They are childish ornaments, 
by which a sentence always loses more in point of 
significancy, than it can gain in point of sound. After 
all the labour bestowed by Quintilian on regulating 
the measures of prose, he comes at last, with his 
usual good sense, to this conclusion : ** Upon the 
whole, I would rather chuse, that composition should 
appear rough and harsh, if that be necessary, than 
that it should be enervated and effeminate, such as 
"we find in the st^'le of too many. Some sentences, 
therefore, which we have studiously formed into 

melody, 



98 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTUKE 

inelod}-, should be thrown loose, that they may not 
seem too much laboured : nor ought we ever to omit 
any proper or expressive word, for the sake of smooth- 
ing a period/'* 

Hitherto our attention has been directed to agreeable 
sound, or modulation, in general. It yet remains to 
treat of a higher beauty ; the sound adapted to the 
sense. This beauty may either be attained in prose or 
-verse: but in illustrating its general principles, the 
writings of the poets w^ill furnish us with the most 
copious and striking illustrations. 

The resemblance of poetical numbers to the subject 
which they mention or describe, may be considered as 
general or particular, as consisting in the flow and 
structure of a whole passage taken together, or as com- 
prised in the sound of some emphatical and descriptive 
words, or in the cadence and harmony of single verses. 

A general analogy between the sound and the sense 
is to be found in every language which admits of 
poetry, in every author whose fancy enables him to 
impress images strongly on his own mind, and whose 
choice and variety of language readily supplies him 
w-ith just representations.f To such a waiter it is 
natural to change his measure with his subject, even 
without any effort of the understanding, or intervention 
of the judgment. To revolve jollity and mirth, neces- 
sarily tunes the voice of a poet to gay and sprightly 
notes, as it fires his eye with vivacity ; and reflections 
on gloomy situations and disastrous events, will sadden 

* Quintilian, De Institut, Orator, lib. ix. cap. iv. 
t See Dr. Beattie's Essay on Poetry and Music, p. 282. 

his 



OF SENTENCES. QQ 

his numbers as it will cloud his countenance. But in 
such passages, there is only the similitude of pleasure 
to pleasure, and of grief to grief, without any imme- 
diate appUcation of particular images. I'he same flow 
of joyous versification will celebrate the jollity of 
marriage, and the exultation of triumph ; and the same 
languor of melody will suit the complaint of an absent 
lover, and the lamentations of a conquered king. 

It is scarcely to be doubted that on many occasions 
we produce the music w^hich we imagine ourselves to 
hear J that we modulate the poem by our own dispo- 
sition, and ascribe to the numbers the effects of the 
sense. We may observe in real life that it is not easy 
to deliver a pleasing message in an unple^sing manner, 
and that Ave readily associate beauty and deformity 
with those w horn w^e have reason to love or hate. Yet 
it would be too daring to declare that all the cele- 
brated adaptations of harmony are chimerical ; that 
Homer, Virgil, and Milton^ paid no extraordinary 
attention to their numbers in any of those passages 
where the sound is said to be an echo to the sense.* 

There being frequently a strong resemblance of one 
sound to another, it will not be surprising to find an 
aiticulate sound resembhng one that is not articulate. 
Of tliis resemblance we meet with an exemplificatioa 
iin the following passages. 

On a sudden open fly. 
With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, 
Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate 
Harsh thunder. Milton. 

♦ Johnson's Rambler, No, 94. 



100 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE 

The impetuous arrow whizzes on the wing.— Pctpe. 

The string, let fly,- 
Tzcang'd short and sharp, like the shrill swallow's cry. — Pope, 

Loud sounds the air, redoubling strokes on strokes, 
On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks 
Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown, 
Then rustling, crackling, crashing, thunder down. — Pope, 

The pilgrim oft 
At dead of night 'mid his oraison hears 
Aghast the voice of Time, disparting towers, 
Tumbling all precipitate down-dash'd, . 
Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon. — J. Dyer. 

That there is any other natural resemblance of sound 
to signification, must not be taken for granted* There 
is evidently no similarity between sound and motion, 
or between sound and sentiment. We are apt to be 
deceived by an artful pronunciation. The same pas- 
sage may be pronounced in many different, tones, 
elevated or humble, sweet or harsh, brisk or melan- 
choly, so as to accord with the sentiment or thought. ^ 
This concordance must be carefully distinguished from 
that between sound and sense ; which may sometimes 
subsist without any dependence upon artful pronun- 
ciation. The latter is the work of the poet ; the former 
must be attributed to the reader. 

There is another circumstance which contributes 
still more to the deceit. Sound and sense being inti- 
mately connected, the properties of the one are readily 
communicated to the other. Thus, for example, the 
quality of grandeur, of sweetness, or of melancholy, 
though solely belonging to the thought, is transferred 
to the word by w^hich that quality is expressed. In 
1 this 



OF SENTENCES. lOl 

this manner, words bear an imaginary resemblance to 
those objects of which they are only the arbitrary si o-ns. 

It is of the greatest importance to distinguish the na- 
tural resemblance of sound and signification, from those 
artificial resemblances which have now been described. 

From the instances lately adduced, it is evident that 
there may be a similarity between sounds articulate, 
and sounds inarticulate. But we may safely pronounce 
that this resemblance can be carried no farther. The 
objects of the different senses have no similarity to each 
other. Sound, whether articulate or inarticulate, bears 
no kind of analogy to taste or smell; and a« little can 
it resemble internal sentiment, feeling, or emotion. 
Must we then admit that nothing but sound can be 
imitated by sound? Taking imitation in its proper 
sense, as importing a coincidence between different 
objects, the proposition must be admitted : and yet in 
many passages that are not descriptive of sound, every 
one must be sensible of a peculiar concord between 
the sound of the words and their meaning. As there 
can be no doubt of the fact, what remains is, to enquire 
into its cause. 

Resembling causes may produce effects which have 
no resemblance ; and causes which have no resem- 
blance may produce resembling effects. A magni- 
ficent building, for example, does not in any de- 
gree resemble an heroic action ; and yet the emotions 
which they produce, are sometimes concordant, and 
bear a resemblance to each other. We are still more 
sensible of this kind of resemblance in a song where 
the music is properly adapted to the sentiment. There 
is no similarity between thought and sound , but there 

is 



102 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTUEE 

is the strongest similarity between the emotion excited 
by music tender and pathetic, and that excited by the 
complaint of an unsuccessful lover. When we apply 
this observation to the present subject, it will appear 
that in some instances, the sound even of a single word 
makes an impression similar to that which is produced 
T>y the thing it signifies. Rumiingy rapidity ^ impetu- 
osity^ precipitationy are of this description. Brutal 
manners produce in the spectator an emotion not 
unlil-e what is caused by a harsh and rough vsound ; and 
hence the beauty of the figurative expression, rugged 
manners. The word little^ being pronounced with a 
very small aperture of the mouth, has a weak and 
faint sound, v/hich makes an impression resemblin'g 
that produced by a diminutive object. This resem- 
blance of effects is still more remarkable where a num- 
ber of words are connected together in a period. 
Words pronounced in succession often produce a strong 
impression ; and when this impression happens to 
accord with that made by the sense, we are sensible of 
a complex emotion, peculiarly pleasant ; one proceed- 
ing from the sentiment, and one from the melody or 
sound of the words. But the chief pleasure arises 
from having these two concordant emotions combined 
in perfect harmony, and carried on in the mind to a 
full close. 

Except those passages in which sound is described, 
all the examples given by critics of sense being imitated 
by sound, resolve themselves into a resemblance of 
effects. Emotions excited by sound and signification 
may have a mutual resemblance ; but sound itself 
cannot have a resemblance to any thing but sound. 

After 



OF SENTENCES. 103 

After having suggested these general observations, 
it will he proper to descend to particular cases. 

By a number of syllables in succession, an emotion 
is sometimes raised, similar to that excited by suc- 
cessive motion. In this manner slow motion may be 
justly imitated in a verse where long syllables prevail^ 
especially with the aid of a slow pronunciation. 
Illi inter sese magna vi brachia toilunt. — Virgil. 

On the other hand, swift motion is imitated by a 
succession of short syllables. 

Quadrupedante putrera sonitu quatit ungula campum.— Fi'/'g??. 

By the frequency of its pauses, a line composed of 
monosyllables makes an impression similar to what is 
made by laborious interrupted motion. 
First march the heavy mules securely slow; 
O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go.— Pope, 

With many a weary step, and many a groan, 

Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone. — Broome. 

The impression made by rough sounds in succession, 
resembles that made by rough or tumultuous motion ; 
and, on the other hand, the impression of smooth 
sounds resembles that of gentle motion. 

Two craggy rocks, projecting to the main, ' 

The roaring wind's tempestuous rage restrain; 

Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide, 

And ships secure without their hausers ride. — Pope. 

Prolonged motion is well expressed by an Alex- 
andrine verse. The following is an example of slow 
motion prolonged. 

A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 

That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along.— Pope. 

The 



104 HARMONY IN THE STRUCTURE 

The next example is oi forcible motion prolonged. 

The waves behind impel the waves before, 

V^'ide-rolling, foaming high, and tumbhng on the shore.— Pt>/>ea 
The last is of rapid motion prolonged. 
The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, 
Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along tiie ground.— Broowe, 

A period consisting mostly of long syllables, that is, 
of syllables pronounced slow, produces an emotion 
which bears a faint resemblance to that ej^cited by 
gravity and solemnity. Hence the beauty of the fol- 
lowing verse. 

Olli sedato respondit corde Latinus. — Virgil, 

A short syllable made long, or a long syllable made 
short, raises, by the difficulty of pronouncing co-ntrary 
to custom, a feeling similar to that of hard labour. 

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,— Pojije, 

This enumeration might be extended to a much 
greater length; but the examples which have been 
given, may serve as a foundation for the reader's 
further enquiries. 

I have had occasion to observe that to complete the 
resemblance between^ound and sense, artful pronun- 
ciation contributes in no small degree. Pronunciation 
may therefore be considered as a branch of the present 
subject; and with some observations upon it this 
chapter shall be concluded. 

To give a just idea of pronunciation, it must be 
distinguished fix)m singing. The latter is carried on 
by notes, requiring each of them a different aperture of 
the Avindpipe : the notes properly belonging to the 
former^ are expressed by different apertures of the 

mouthy 



OF SENTENCES. 105 

inouth, without varying the aperture of the wind- 

111 reading, as in singing, there is a key-note. Above 
his note the voice is frequently elevated, to make the 
sound correspond to the elevation of the subject. But 
the mind, in an elevatvcd state, is disposed to action ; 
and therefore in order to rest, it must be brought down 
to the key-note. Hence the term cadence. 

The only rule that can be given for directing the 
pronunciation, is to sound the words in such a manner 
as to imitate the things which they signify. In pro- 
nouncing words denoting something elevated, the voice 
ought to be raised above its ordinary tone. To imitate 
a stern and impetuous passion, the words ought to be 
pronounced rough and loud. A sweet and gentle 
passion, on the contrary, ought to be imitated by a 
soft and melodious tone of voice. In general, words 
of the greatest importance ought to be marked with 
peculiar emphasis. Another circumstance which con- 
tributes to the resemblance betAveen sense and sound, 
is the slowness or rapidity of pronunciation. A period 
should be pronounced slow, when it expresses what is 
solemn or deliberate ; and quick, when it expresses 
what is lively or impetuous. 

This rule might be branched out into many particular 
observations : but these do not properly belong to the 
present undertaking, because no language furnishes 
words to denote the different degrees of high and low, 
loud and soft, fast and slow. Before these circum- 
stances can be made the subject of regular instruction, 
notes must be invented resembling those employed in 
inusic. We have reason to believe that in Greece 

every 



106 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. 

every tragedy was accompanied with such notes, t& 
ascertain the pronunciation : but hitherto the moderns 
have not thought of this refinement. Cicero indeed, 
:vvithout the help of notes, professes to give rules for 
ascertaining the various tones of voice which are pro- 
per in expressing the different passions ; and it must 
be acknowledged that in this attempt he has exhausted 
the whole power of language. At the same time, it is 
evident that these rules avail little in point of instruc- 
tion. The very words which he employs, are not 
intelligible, except to those who are previously ac- 
quainted with the subject. 



CHAR XIL 

OF FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. 

Tj^IGURES of speech always denote some departure 
from the simplicity of expression : they enunciate, 
after a particular manner, the idea which we intend to 
convey, and that with the addition of some circumstance 
designed to render the impression more strong and 
vivid. When I say, " A good man enjoys comfort in 
the midst of adversity,'* I express my thoughts in the 
simplest manner possible. But when I say, " To the 
upright there ariseth light in darkness," the same sen- 
timent is expressed in a figurative style : a new circum- 
stance is introduced ; light is put in the place of comfort, 
and darkness is used to suggest the idea of adversity. 
Though figures imply a deviation from what may 

be 



FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. 107 

be reckoned the most simple form of speech, we are 
not thence to infer that they imply any thing uncom- 
mon, or unnatural. This is so far from being the 
case, that, on many occasions, they are both the most 
natural, and the most common method of uttering our 
sentiments. It is impossible to compose any discourse 
without making frequent use of them ; nay, there are 
few sentences of any length, in which there does not 
occur some expression that may be termed figurative! 
Figures are therefore to be accounted part of that lan- 
guage which nature dictates to mankind. They are 
not the invention of the schools, nor the mere product 
of study : on the contrary, the most illiterate speak in 
figures, as often perhaps as the most learned. When- 
ever the imagination of the vulgar is powerfully 
awakened, or their passions highly enflamed, they 
will pour forth a torrent of figurative language, as 
forcible as could be employed by the most artificial 
declaimer. 

"When we attend," sa3's Dr. Ferguson, *' to the 
language which savages employ on any solemn occa- 
sion, it appears that man is a poet by nature. Whe- 
ther at first obliged by the mere defects of his tongue, 
and the scantiness of proper expressions, or seduced 
by a pleasure of the fancy in stating the analogy of its 
object, he clothes every conception in image and me- 
taphor. * We have planted the tree of peace,' says 
an American orator ;^ 'we have buried the axe under 
its roots: we will henceforth repose under its shade ; 
we will join to brighten- the chain that binds our 
nations together.' Such are the collections of meta- 
phojf which those nations employ in their public 
E 5 harangues. 



108 FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. 

harangues. They have hkevvise adopted those lively 
figures, and that daring freedom of language, -which 
the learned have afterwards found so well fitted to 
express the rapid transitions of the imagination, and 
the ardours of a passionate mind."* 

Dr. Beattie has remarked that <* savages, illiterate 
persons, and children, have comparatively but few 
•words in proportion to the things they may have 
occasion to speak of; and must therefore recur to 
tropes and figures more frequently, than persons of 
copious elocution. A seaman, or mechanic, even 
when he talks of that which does not belong to his 
art, borrows his language from that which does ; and 
this makes his diction figurative to a degree that is 
sometimes entertaining enough "f 

What then is it that has drawn the attention of 
critics and rhetoricians so much to these forms of 
jfpeech ? They remarked that in them consists much 
oi the beauty and force of language , and found them 
always to bear some character or distinguishing marks, 
by the help of which they could reduce them under 
separate classes. To this, perhaps, they owe their 
name. As the figure or shape of one body distin- 
guishes it from another, so each of these forms of 
speech has a cast peculiar to itself, which both distin- 
guishes it from the rest, and from the simple form of 
expression. Simple expression just makes our idea 
known to others ; hut figurative language bestows a 

*■ Ferguson^s History of Civil Society, part iii. sect, viii, 
t Beattie*s Essay on Poetry aad Music, p. £36. 

particul^ 



FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE IN GENERAL. 109 

particular dress upon that idea ; a dress which serves 
to distinguish and adorn it. 

Figures in general may be described to be that lan- 
guage which is prompted either by the imagination, 
or by the passions. Rhetoricians commonly divide 
them into two great classes, figures of words, and 
figures of thought. The former are denominated 
tropes : they consist in the employment of a word to 
signify something thiat is different from its original 
and primitive meaning ; so that if you alter the word, 
you destroy the figure. Thus in the instance lately 
adduced, the trope consists in *' light and darkness" 
being not meant in a literary sense, but substituted for 
** comfort and adversity,'' on account of some resem^ 
blance, or analogy which they are supposed to bear to 
those conditions of life. The other class, termed 
figures of thought, supposes the words to be used in 
their proper and literal meaning, and the figure to 
consist in the turn of the thought. This is the case 
with personifications, and apostrophes ; where, though 
you vary the words which are used, or translate theme 
from one language into another, you may still preserve 
the same figure. This distinction, however, is of very 
small importance : nothing can be built upon it iri 
practice ; nor can it always be clearly observed. Pro-* 
vided we remember that figurative language imports 
some colouring of the imagination, or some emotioii; 
or passion, expressed in our style, it is a matter of 
yery little moment, whether we give to some parti- 
cular Hiode of expression the name of a trope or of a 
figure. 

As 



110 1*ERS0NIFICATI0N, 

As it would be tedious to dwell on all the variety of 
figurative expressions which rhetoricians have enu- 
merated, I shall only select such figures as most fre- 
quently occur. The principles and rules laid down 
concerning them will sufficiently direct us to the use 
of the rest, either in prose or poetry.* 



CHAR XIII. 

OF PERSONIFICATION, 

'hpHE boldest effort of the imagination seems to be 
that which bestows sensibiliry and voluntary mo- 
tion upt)n things inanimate. At first view, one would 
be disposed to conclude that this figure borders on the 
extravagant and ridiculous. For what can seem more 
remote from the track of reasonable thought, than to 
speak of stones, trees, fields, and rivers, as if they were 
living creatures, and to attribute to them thought and 
sensation, action and affection ? This would appear to 
be nothing more than childish conceit which no person 
of taste could relish. The case, however, is very 
different. No such ridiculous effect is produced by 
personification, when judiciously managed: on the 
contrary, it is found to be natural and agreeable. Nor 
is any very uncommon degree of passion required to 
make us relish it. Into every species of poetry it easily 

^ Many curious observations respecting the-Jiature of figuratn-e 
language, occur in the Marquis Beccaria's RiQerche intorno alia 
Jtfatura ddio Stile, 

gains 



PERSONIFICATION". Ill 

gains admission : it is by no means excluded from 
prose ; and even in common conversation it not unfre 
quently finds a place. Thus we do not hesitate to 
speak of sl furious dart, a deceitful disease, the thirsty 
ground, the angry ocean. The use of such expressions 
shews the facihty with which the mind can accom- 
modate the properties of living creatures to inanimate 
objects, or to its own abstract ideas. 

That our actions are too much influenced by passion^ 
is an acknowledged truth; but it is not less certain 
that passion also possesses considerable influence over 
our perceptions, opinions, and belief. When by any 
animating passion, whether pleasant or painful, an 
impulse is given to the imagination, we are in that 
condition disposed to use every sort of figurative ex-» 
pression. Now those figures are generally founded 
upon a momentary belief in some circumstance which 
calm and unclouded reason would represent in quite a 
different point of view. ** A man agitated," says Dr. 
Beattie, " with any interesting passion, especially of 
long continuance, is apt to fancy that all nature sympa- 
thises with him. If he has lost a beloved friend, he 
thinks the sun less bright than at other times ; and in 
the sighing of the winds and groves, in the lowings of 
the herd, and in the murmurs of the stream, he seems 
to hear the voice of lamentation. But when joy or 
hope predominates, the whole world assumes a gay 
appearance. In the contemplation of every part of 
nature, of every condition oi mankind, of every form 
of human society^ the benevolent and pious man, the 
morose and the cheerful, the miser and the misanthrope, 
finds occasion to iijdulge his favourite passion, and 

sees. 



112 PERSONIFICATION. 

^ees, or thinks he sees, his own temper reflected back 
in the actions, sympathies, and tendencies of other 
things and persons. Our affections are indeed the 
medium through which we may be said to survey our- 
selves, and every thing else; and whatever be our 
inward frame, we are apt to perceive a w^onderful con- 
geniality in the world w^ithout us. And hence, the 
fancy, when roused by real emotions, or by the pathos 
of composition, is easily reconciled to those figures of 
speech that ascribe sympathy, perception, and other 
attributes of animal life, to things inanimate, or even to 
notions merely intellectual,*" 

In the following example of personification, Almeria 
calls upon the earth to protect her from the unkindness 
of her father. 

Earth, behold, I kneel upon thy bosom, 
And bend my flowing eyes to stream upon 
Thy face, imploring thee that thou wilt yield j 
Open thy bowels of compassion, take 

Into thy womb the last and most forlorn 

Of all thy race. Hear me, thou common parent ° 

1 have no parent else. Be thou a mother, 
And step between me and the curse of him, 
Who was — who was, but is no more a father; 
But brands my innocence with horrid crimes ; 
And, for the tender names of child and daughter, 
Now calls me murderer and parricide. Congreve. 

Plaintive passions are extremely solicitous for vent j 
and a soliloquy frequently answers this purpose. But 
when such a passion becomes excessive, it cannot be 
gratified except by sympathy from others; and if 



f Beattie*&Essay on Poetry, and Music,, p. 255.^ 

denied 



PERSONIFICATION-. 113 

denied that consolation, it will convert even things 

inanimate into sympathising beings. 

Ye Woods and Wilds, whose melancholy gloom 
Accords with my soul's sadness, and draws forth 
The tear of sorrow from my bursting heart, 
Farewell a while. Ho)m> 

Ah happy hills ! ah pleasing shade ! 

Ah fields belovM in vain, 

Where ence my careless childhood stray'd, 

A stranger yet to pain 1 

I feel the gales that from ye blow, 

A momentary bliss bestow ; 

As waving fresh their gladsome wmg, 

My weary soul they seem to sooth, 

And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. Gray. 

That such personification is derived from nature, will 
not admit of the least doubt, when we consider that it 
is to be found in the poetical productions of the darkest 
ages, and most remote countries, 

Terror is another source of this figure : it is commu- 
nicated in thought to every surrounding object, even 
to those which are inanimate. 

Go, view the setthng sea. The stormy wind is laid; but the 
billows still tumble on the deep, and seem to fear the blast.-r-Ossi«n. 

We naturally communicate our joy in the same 
manner. 

As when to them who sail 
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 
Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow 
Sabean odour from the spicy shore 
Of Araby the Blest; with such delay 
• Well pleas'd, they slack their course, and many a league 
Chear'd with the, grateful smell old Ocean smiles. — Milton^ 

In 



114 PERSONIFICATION'. 

In all the above examples, the personification, if I 
mistake not, is so complete as to afford an actual though 
momentary conviction, that the objects introduced are 
possessed of life and intelligence. But it is evident 
from numberless instances that the personification is 
not always so perfect. It is often employed in descrip- 
tive poetry, without being intended to produce the 
same conviction. 

O Winds of winter I list ye there 

To many a deep and dying groan ? 
Or start ye, demons of the midnight air, 

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own ? 
Alas ! ev'n your unhallow'd breath 

May spare the victim fallen low ; 
But man will ask no truce to death, 

No bounds to human woe, Campbell* 

Come gentle Spring ! etherial mildness, come^ 
And from the bosom of yon dropping cl«udi 
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower 
Of shadowing roses on our plains descend. — Thomson^ 

Now Summer with her wanton court is gone 

To revel on the south side of the worlds 

And^aunt and frolic out the livelong day; 

While Winter rising pale from northern seas 

Shakes from his hoary locks the drizzling rheum.— -ufrms^ron^ 

Lo ! how the Years to come, a numerous and well-fitted quire, 
All hand in hand do decently advance, 
And to my song with smooth and equal measures dance. 

But look, the Morn, in russet mantle clad, 

Walks o*er the dew of yon high eastward hill. — Shakspeare. 

Awake, ye West Winds, through the lonely dale, 
AiuJi, Fancy, tp thy fairy bower betake! 

Evea 



PERSONIFICATION. 115 

Even now with balmy freshness breathes the gale, 

DimpHng with downy wing the stilly lake: 

Through the pale willows faultering whispers wake, 

And Evening connes with locks bedropt with dew. — Mickte^ 

Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne, 

In rayless majesty, now stretches forth 

Her leaden sceptre o'er a slanib'ring world. -^Young. 

In these instances, it may be presumed that the perso- 
nification, either with the poet or his readers, does not 
amount to any conviction that the objects are endowed 
with intelhgence. The winds, the seasons, years, morn- 
ing, evening, and night, are not here understood to 
be sensible beings. The personification must therefore 
be referred to the imagination: the inanimate object is 
figured to be possessed of consciousness ; but we are 
not even impressed with a momentary conviction that 
it is so in reaUty. Ideas or fictions of imagination have 
the power of exciting emotions in the mind : and when 
any inanimate object is, in imagination, supposed to 
be an intelUgent being, it assumes an appearance of 
greater importance than when an idea is formed of it 
according to truth. In this case, however, the elevation 
is far from being equal to what it is when the perso- 
nification amounts to actual conviction. Thus perso- 
nification is of two kinds. The first, or nobler kind, 
may be termed passionate personification ; the other, 
or more humble, may be termed descriptive personifi- 
cation. Personification in mere description is seldom 
or never carried the length of conviction. 

This figure admits of three different degrees ; which 
it is necessary to remark and distinguish, in order to 
determine the propriety of its use. The first is, when 

some 



11(3 PERSONIFICATIOjr, 

some of the properties or qualities of living creatures 
are ascribed to inanimate objects ; the second, when 
those inanimate objects are introduced as acting like 
living creatures ; and the third, when they are repre- 
sented, either as speaking to us, or as listening when we 
address them. 

When this figure is used in its lowest degree, it 
raises the style so little, that it may be admitted into 
the most humble discourse. Such expressions 2ls furious 
dart, thirsty ground, raise so slight a conviction of 
sensibility, if they raise any at all, that it may seem 
doubtful whether they ought not to be referred to some 
other figure. Still, however, such epithets are found 
to have a more powerful effect than those which are 
properly and literally applicable to the objects. This 
effect may be explained in the following manner. In 
the expression angry ocean, do we not tacitly compare 
the ocean in a storm to a man in wrath ? It is by this 
tacit comparison that the expression acquires a force or 
elevation above what is found in an epithet proper to 
the object. This comparison, though only tacit, seems 
to exclude personification : by the very nature of com- 
parison, the objects compared are kept distinct, and 
the native appearance of each is preserved. 
' All that can be said concerning the subject, is, that, 
with regard to such instances, it must depend upon the 
reader, whether they may be examples of personifi- 
cation, or merely of what is denominated a figure of 
speech. A sprightly imagination will advance them to 
the former class j while, with a plain reader, they will 
"remain in the latter. 

The second degree of this figure is, when inanimate 
•' objects 



PERSOXIFICATION-, 11/ 

objects or abstract ideas are introduced acting like 
living creatures. Here we rise a step higher, and the 
personification becomes sensible. The strength of the 
figure depends upon the nature of the action which we 
attribute to those inanimate objects, and the particu- 
larity with which it is described. 

Go to your Natural Religion; lay before her Mahomet, and bis 
disciples, arrayed in armour and blood, riding in triumph over the 
spoils of thousands who fell by his victorious sword. Shew her the 
cities which he set in flames, the countries which he ravaged and 
destroyed, and the miserable distress of all the inhabitants of the 
earth. When she has viewed him in this scene, carry her into his 
retirement; shew her the prophet's chamber; his concubines and 
his wives; and let her hear him allege revelation, and a divine 
commission, to justify his adultery and lust. When she is tired 
with this prospect, then shew her the blessed Jesus, humble and 
meek, doing good to all the sons of men. Let her see him in his 
most retired privacies; let her follow him to the Mount, and hear 
his devotions and supplications to God. Carry her to his table, 
and view his poor fare ; and hear his heavenly discourse. Let her 
attend liim to the tribunal, and consider the patience with which he 
endured the scoffs and reproaches of his enemies. Lead her to his 
cross; let her view him in the agony of death, and hear his last 
prayer for his persecutors ; Father, forgive them, for they know not 
what they do ! When Natural Religion has thus viewed both, ask 
her. Which is the Prophet of God? But her answer we have 
already had, when she saw part of this scene, through the eyes of 
the centurion, who attended at the cross. By him she spoke, and 
said, Truly this man was the Son of God. — SherlocWs Sermons. 

This is more than elegant; it is truly sublime. The 
w^hole passage is animated ; and the figure rises at the 
conclusion, w^hen Natural Religion, who before was 
, only a spectator, is introduced as speaking by the centu- 
rion's voice. This is an instance of personification, 

carried 



118 PERSONIFICATION. 

carried as far as prose, even in its highest elevation^ 
•will admit. 

The mythological personification in Dr. Smollett's 
Ode to Independeiice is managed with admirable effect; 
and this is indeed one of the noblest lyric poems in 
the English language. 

The genius of our tongue affords us a material advan- 
tage in the use of this figure. All substantive nouns, 
except the proper names of creatures^ male or female, 
are destitute of gender. By simply bestowing the 
masculine or feminine gender upon inanimate objects, 
we introduce personification. ** When,** says Mr, 
Harris,. '* v/e give them sex, by making them mascu- 
line or feminine, they are thenceforth personified; are 
a kind of intelligent beings, and become, as such, the 
proper ornament either of rhetoric or poetry. 

*' Thus Milton: 

The Thunder 
Winged with red lightening and impetuous rage, 
Perhaps hath spent his shafts. P. Lost, I, 174. 

'* The poet having just before called the hail and 
thunder, God's ministers of vengeance, and so perso- 
nified them, had he afterwards said its shafts for his 
shafts, would have destroyed his own image, and ap- 
proached withal so much nearear to prose. 

'' The following passage is from the same poem ; 

Should intermitted Vengeance arm again 

Ki& red right hand. P. L. II. 173. 

*' In this place his hand is clearly preferable either 
to hers or its, by immediately referring us to God 
himself the avenger. 

«« I shall 



PERSONIFICATION. 119 

^* I shall only add one instance more : 
At his command th' uprooted Hills retired 
Each to his place: they heard his voice and went 
Obsequious: Heaven his wonted face renew'd, 
And with fresh flowrets Hill and V^alley smil'd. P. Z. VI, 

** Here all things are personified ; the hills hear, the 
vsdleys smile, and theyirc^ of heaven is renewed. Sup- 
pose then the poet had been necessitated by the laws of 
his language to have said — Each hill retir'd to its place 
— Heaven renew^ed its wonted face — how prosaic and 
lifeless would these neuters have appeared ; how^ detri- 
mental to the prosopopoeia, which he was aiming to 
establish! In all this therefore he was happy, that the 
language in which he wTote, imposed no such necessity; 
and he was too wdse a writer, to impose it on him- 
self/'* 

Personifications of this kind are extremely frequent 
in poetry, of which indeed they may almost be con- 
sidered as the life and soul. We expect to find every 
thing animated in the descriptions of a poet who pos- 
sesses a lively fancy. Homer is remarkable for the use 
of this figure. War, peace, darts, spears, towns, ri- 
vers, every thing, in short, is alive in his wa'itings. The 
same is the case with Milton and Shakspeare. One of 
the greatest pleasures we derive from poetry, is, to find 
ourselves always in tlie midst of our fellows, and to see 
every thing feeling and acting like ourselves. This is 
perhaps the principal charm of the figurative style, 
that it introduces us into society with all nature, and 
interests us even in inanimate objects, by forming a 

* Harris's Herraes, book i, cliap. iv. 

connexion 



120 PERSONIFICATION. 

connexion between them and us, through that seiisi- 
bihty which it ascribes to them. 

It yet remains to treat of the highest degree of this 
figure. This consists in introducing inanimate objects 
and irrational beings not only as feeling and acting, but 
also as listening and speaking. Personification in this 
degree, though on several occasions far from being un-' 
natural, is very difficult in the management. It is the 
boldest of all rhetorical figures : it is the style of 
strong passion only ; and therefore ought never to be 
attempted, unless when the mind is considerably heated 
and agitated. The introduction of some object inani- 
mate, acting as if it had life, can be relished by the 
mind in the midst of cool description. But we must 
be in a state of considerable emotion, before we can so 
far realize the personification of an insensible object, as 
to conceive it listening to what we say, or returning an 
answer to our address. All strong passions, however, 
have a tendency to produce this figure ; not only love, 
anger, and indignation, but even those which are seem- 
ingly more depressing, such as grief, remorse, and me- 
lancholy. In the subsequent passage, a poet of exqui» 
site talents introduces an address from *' the insecx 
youth." 

Methinks I hear in accents low 

Th€ sportive kind reply : 

Poor moralist! and what art thou? 

A solitary fly. 

Thy joys no glittering female meets, 

No hive hast thou of hoarded sweet?, 

No painted plumage to display : 

On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; 

Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 

We frolic while 'tis May, , Gray^ 

Having 



PERSONIFICATION. 121 

Having thus treated of the nature of personification, 
and of its different degrees, it remains to shew in Avhat 
cases it may be introduced with propriety, when it is 
suitable, when unsuitable. 

After a passionate personification is properly intro- 
duced, it ought to be confined to its distinct province, 
that of gratifying some predominant passion. Every 
sentiment which is unconnected with this design, ought 
to be rejected. The passion of love, for example, in a 
plaintive tone, may bestow a momentary life upon 
woods and rocks, to make them witnesses of the lover's 
constancy or distress ; but no passion will support a 
conviction so far stretched, as that those woods and 
rocks should report that constancy or distress to others. 
An eminent poet, however, has fallen into an error of 
this kind. 

If extraordinary marks of respect to a person of low 
condition be ridiculous, not less so is the personifica- 
tion of a low subject. This rule chiefly regards de- 
scriptive personification ; for a subject can hai'dly be 
regarded as mean or low that is the cause of a violent 
passion: in that circumstance, at least, it must be of 
importance. No positive rules, however, can be as- 
signed with regard to what objects should be selected, 
and what avoided : the ultimate appeal must always lye 
to the decision of taste. A poet of superior genius, 
possessing the power of inflaming the -mind, may take 
liberties which would be dangerous in others. Homer 
does not appear extravagant in animating his darts and 
arrows; nor Thomson in animating the seasons, the 
winds, the rains, the dews. The latter of these poets 
even ventures to animate the diamond j and this he does 

with 



122 PEESONIf ICATION^ 

witli great propriety. But there are objects familiar 
and base, to which personification cannot descend. In 
a composed state of mind, to animate a lump of mat- 
ter even in the most rapid flight of fancy, degenerates 
into burlesque. 

How now ? what noise ? that spirit^s possessed with haste, 
That wounds the unresisting postern with these strokes. 

Shahspeare. 
This produces a very ridiculous effect. 

Descriptive personification cannot be too cautiously 
used. A personage in tragedy, agitated by some 
strong passion, is inspired with warm and lofty senti- 
ments ; an(i the reader, catching fire by sympathy, re- 
lishes the boldest personifications: but a writer, even 
in the most lively description, ought to content himself 
with such figures of this kind as agree with the tone of 
mind inspired by the description. Nor is the lowest 
degree of personification to be admitted upon every 
occasion ; for in plain narrative, the mind, serious and 
sedate, rejects the figure altogether. 

Descriptive, still more than passionate personifica- 
tion, ought to be kept within the bounds of modera- 
tion. Upon certain occasions, a reader can even with- 
out passion imagine the winds to be animated : but still 
the winds are the subject ; and any action ascribed to 
them contrary to their usual operation, appearing un- 
natural, seldom fails to banish the illusion altogether. 
The reader's imagination, too far strained, refuses its 
aid; and the description becomes obscure, instead of 
being more lively and luminous. In Mr. Campbeifs 
exquisite Ode to Winter^ the personification, though 

carried 



PERSo^^IFICATlO^^ 123 

carried to a great extent, is managed with evident pro- 
priety and skill. 

This figure requires to be used with greater modera- 
tion in prose than in poetry: for, in prose, the same 
assist^ances cannot be obtained for raising passion to its 
proper height by the force of numbers and the glow 
of style. Yet from this species of composition, ad- 
dresses to objects inanimate are by no means excluded: 
they have their place in the loftier kind of oratory. 
A public speaker ma}^ on some occasions very properly 
address religion or virtue, or his country, or some city 
or province, which has suffered, perhaps, great calami- 
ties, or been the scene of some memorable event. But 
it ought to be remembered, that, as such addresses are 
among the highest efforts of eloquence, they should ne- 
ver be attempted, unless by persons of more than ordi- 
nary genius. Of all frigid things, the most frigid are 
the awkward and unseasonable attempts sometimes mad©- 
towards such kinds of personification, especially if they 
be long continued. We perceive the writer labouring 
to imitate the language of some passion which he 
neither feels himself, nor is capable of exciting in 
others. 

^* If," says the elegant and accomplished Mr. Ros- 
coe, *' the moderns excel the ancients in any depart- 
ment of poetry, it is in that now under consideration. It 
must not indeed be supposed that the ancients were in- 
sensible of the effects produced by this powerful charm. 
But it may safely be asserted that they have availed 
themselves of this creative faculty, much more sparing- 
ly, .and with much less success, than their modern com- 
petitors. The attribution of ,':ense to inert objects is 
G indeed 



1^24 APOSTROPHE. 

indeed common to both ; but the still bolder exertion 
which embodies abstract existence, and renders it sus-^ 
ceptible of ocular representation, is almost exclusively 
the boast of the moderns."* 



CHAP. XIV. 

OF APOSTROPHE. 



A POSTROPHE is a figure nearly allied to personi- 
fication. It consists in bestowing an ideal pre- 
sence upon real persons, either dead or absent. We 
address them as if they stood before us listening to the 
overflowing of our passion. 

Never, O little flock ! from which I was torn by the cruel fate of 
war, never shall I be unmindful of the sacred ties that united us, of 
the uninterrupted liarmony which we enjoyed, and of those fruits of 
the Spirit, goodness, righteousness, and truth, which exhibited among 
you the most convincing proofs of the energy of the gospel ! Never 
shall I forget that melancholy day on which I was separated from 
you, without one public opportunity of " commending you to God, 
and to his grace," without one affectionate expression, without one 
adieu. — Brownh Sermons, 

Strike the harp in praise of Bragela, whom I left in the isle of mist, 
the spouse of my love. Dost thou raise thy fair face from the rock 
to find the sails of CuchuUin ? The seais rolling far distant, and its 
white foam shall deceive thee for my sails. Retire, for it is night, 
my love, and the dark winds sigh in thy hair. Retire to the hall of 
my feasts, and think of the times that are past; for I will not return 
till the storm of war is gone. — Ossicm. 

* Eoscoe's Life of Lorenzo de' Medici, vol. i. p. 357". 

In 



APOSTROPHE. 125 

In these examples, an address is made to persons tliat 
are absent : but addresses are also made to the dead. 

Farcwel, too little, and too lately, known, 

Whom I began to think and call my own • 

For sure our souls were near ally'd, and thine 

Castin the same poetic mould with mine. Dtydcn, 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 

Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 

Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 

Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 

And make her arm puissant as your own I 

Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return 

The patriot Tell, the Bruce of Bannockburu ! CamphdU 

Oh thou ! with whom my heart was wont to share 

From reason's dawn each pleasure and each care; 

With whom, alas ! I fondly hop'd to know 

The humble walks of happiness below ; 

If thy blest nature now unites above 

An angel's pity with a brother's love, 

Still o'er my life preserve thy mild controul, 

Correctmy views, and elevate my soul. RogerSt 

Art thou, my Gregory, forever fled? 

And am [ left to unavailing woe ? 

When fortune's storms assail this weary head. 

Where cares long since have shed untimely snow, 

Ah, now for comfor. whither shall I go ? 

Xo more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers; 

Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow, 

]My hopes to cherish and allay my fears. Beaitie, 

Phillips ! whose touch harmonious could remove 

The pangs of guilty pow'r and hapless love, 

Rest here, distrest by poverty no more. 

Find here that calm thou gav'st so oft before; 

Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine, 

Till angels wake thee with a note like thine. Johnson. 



126 HYPERBOLE. 

in all the precedent examples, the persons addressed 
are supposed to be either prese-nt, or at least to listen 
to the speakers. 

It requires a less violent effort of imagination to sup- 
pose persons present who are absent or dead, than to 
animate insensible beings, and direct our discourse to* 
them. This figure may therefore b^ introduced where 
personification in its highest degree would be improper. 
It must not however be employed except when the 
mind is in some measure under the dominion oi pas- 
sion. 



CHAP. XV. 

®P HYPERBOLE. 



FT^HE hyperbole consists in magnifying or diminish- 
ing an object beyond reality. This figure is in 
common use both among the learned and unlearned. 
The human mind does not rest satisfied with the simple 
truth, but has a strong propensity to add or diminish.* 
An object either very little or very great in its kind, 
strikes us with surprise; and this emotion forces upon 
the mind a momentary conviction that the object is 
greater or less than it is actually found to be. Hence 
the hyperbole, which expresses that momentary convic- 
tion. A writer taking advantage of this natural delu- 
sion, enriches his description by the use of hyperboles : 



* Quiatilian. de Institut. Orator, lib, viii. cap. vi» 

and 



IlYPERBOI.r.. 127 

and the reader, even in bis coolest moments, relishes 
that figure ; he is sensible, that it is the operation of 
nature upon a warm fancy. 

Even in common conversation, hyperbolical expres. 
sions very frequently occur ; as szmft as th^ zi'ind, as 
white as snow, and the like : and our ordinary forms of 
compriment are almost all of them extravagant hyper- 
boles. Yet these exaggerated expressions scarcely 
strike us as hyperbohcal. In an instant ^ve make the 
proper abatemei^t, and know how to form a just esti- 
mate. But when there is something striking and un- 
usual in th-e form of a hyperbolical expression, it is ex- 
alted into a figure of speech which draws our attention. 
It cannot have escaped observation, that a writer is 
generally more successful in magnifying by a hyperbole 
than in diminishing. A minute object contracts the 
mind, and fetters its powers ; whereas a grand object 
dilates and inflames it. 

The following quotations will exemplify the manner 
in which this figure is used. 

For all the land which thoo seest, to thee will I give it, and to th_y 
seed for ever. And I will make thy seed as the dust of the eart]) : 
so that ifi a man can number the dust of the earth, then shall thy 
seed also be numbered. — Genesis. 

Me miserable ! which way shall I fly 

Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? 

Which way I fly is Hell : myself am Hell; 

And in the lowest deep a lower deep 

Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide, 

To which the Hell 1 suffer seems a Heaven. Milten. 

Swift Camilla scours the plain, 
FJies o'er th* unbending corn, and skims along the main. — Fope. 

Lon2:inus 



128 HYPERBOLE. 

Longinus quotes from some comic poet, the following 
ludicrous instance of a diminishing hyperbole : " He 
^vas owner of a bit of ground not larger than a Lace- 
demonian letter.* 

I. A hyperbole should never be introduced in the de- 
scription of any thing ordinary or familiar. In such a 
case, it is altogether unnatural. 
I saw him beat the surges under him, 
And ride upon their backs : he trode the water; 
"Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
The surge mostswohi that met him: his bold head 
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
Ilimsehf" witli his good arms, in lusty strokes 
To th* shore, that o'er his wave-borne basis bow'd, 
As stooping to receive him. Shakspeure. 

IL A hyperbole cannot be introduced with pro- 
priety, until the mind of the reader is duly prepared. 
A figure of this kind, placed at the beginning of a 
^#Qrk is improper. 

How far a hyperbole may be carried, and what is the 
proper measure and boundary of it, cannot be ascer- 
tained by any precise rule. Good sense and a culti- 
vated taste must determine the poinr beyond which it 
will become extravagant. Longinus compares a hyper- 
bole carried too far, to a bow-string which relaxes by 
overstraining, and produces an effect opposite to what 
is intended. 

In single opposition hand to hand, 

He did confound the best part of an hour 

In changing hardiment with great Glendower. 

Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink, 

* Longinus de Subiimitate, §xxxviii. 

In 



HYPERBOLE. 129 

Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood; 

Who tlien affrighted with their bloody looks, 

Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds. 

And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank, 

Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. — Shahpcare* 

England ne'er had a king until his time : 

Virtue he Imd, deserving to command : 

His brandish'd sword did blind men with its beams : 

His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings : 

His sparkling eyes, replete with awful fire. 

More dazzled, and diove back his enemies, 

Than mid-day sun fierce bent against their faces. — Shahpeare, 

I found her on the floor 
In all the storm of grief, yet beautiful ; 
Pouring forth tears at such a lavish rate, 
That were the wojid on fire, they might havedrown'd 
The wrath of Heaven, and quench'd the mighty ruin.^^Lee. 

With regard to the latter of these histances, the person 
herself who was under the distractuig agitations of grief 
might be permitted to hyperbolize in this manner; but 
the person describing her cannot be allowed an equal 
liberty. The one is supposed to utter the sentiments of 
passion ; the other speaks only the language of descrip- 
tion, which, according to the dictates of nature, is al- 
ways in a lower tone. This is a distinction which, 
however obvious, has not been attended to by many 
writers. 

III. A hyperbrle, after it is introduced with every 
advantage, ought to be comprehended in as few v/ords 
as possible. As it cannot be relished but in the confu- 
sion and swelling of the mind, a leisurely view dissolves 
the charm, and discovers it to be either extravagant or 
ridiculous. 

CHAP. 



[ ISO } 
CHAP. XVI. 

OF COMPARISON. 

''T^HE situation in which man is placed^ requires fsonie 
acquaintance with the nature, power, and qualities, 
of those objects which surround him. For acquiring a 
branch of knowledge so essential to our happiness and 
preservation, motives of interest and of reason are not 
alone sufficient : nature has providentially superadded 
curiosity, a vigorous principle which is never at rest. 
This principle strongly attaches us to those objects 
which have the recommendation of novelty : it incites 
us to compare things together, for the purpose of dis- 
covering their differences and resemblances. 

Resemblance between objects of the same kind, and 
dissimilitude between those of different kinds, are too 
obvious and familiar to gratify our curiosity in any de- 
gree: its gratification lies in discovering differences 
where resemblance prevails, and resemblances where 
difference prevails. Thus a difference in individuals of 
the same kind of plants or animals is deemed a disco- 
very ; while the many particulars in which they agree, 
are neglected: and in different kinds, any resemblance 
is eagerly remarked, without attending .to the many 
particulars in w^hich they differ. 

Objects of different senses cannot often be properly 
compared together; for they are totally separated from 
each other, and have no circumstance in common to 
admit either resemblance or contrast. Objects of hear- 

irig 



COMPARISON. 131 

ingmay be compared together, as also those of taste, of 
smell, and of touch : but objects of sight are the prin- 
cipal source of comparison ; because, in speaking or 
writing, things can only be compared in idea, and the 
ideas of sight are more distinct and lively than those of 
any other sense. 

It must however be observed that two objects are 
sometimes happily compared together, though, strictly- 
speaking, they resemble each other in nothing. Though 
they are dissimilar, they yet agree in the effects which 
the}' produce upon the mind: they raise a train of simi- 
lar or concordant ideas ; so that the remembrance of 
the one serves to strengthen the impression made by the 
other. 

The music of Carryl was, like the memory ofjoys that are past, 
pleasant and mournful to the soulf—Ossian. 

This seems happy and delicate: yet surely no kind of 
music bears any immediate resemblance to a feeling of 
the mind. Had it been compared to the voice of the 
nightingale, or the murmur of the stream, as it would 
have been by some ordinary poet, the likeness would 
have been more distinct ; but, by founding his simile 
upon the effect which CarryPs music produced, the po- 
et, while he conveys a very tender image, gives us^ at 
the same time, a much stronger impression of the na- 
ture and strain of that music. The following similes 
are of the same description. 

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dn'ell to- 
gether in unity ! It is like the precious ointment upon the head, th;,t 
ran down upon the beard, even Aaron's beard ; that went down to 
the skirts of his garments. — Fsalms. 

G 5 ^ Delightful 



13S2 COMPARISON. 

Delightful is thy presence, O Fingal ! it is like tlie sun of Cronila, 
whei; tlse liuiiter mourns his absence for a season, and sees him be- 
tween the clouds. — Ossicm. 

Often, like the evening sun, connes the memory of former times on 

my soul.— OssiVm. 

When a nation emerging: from barbarity begins to 
cultivate the fine arts, the beauties of language cannot 
long lie concealed: but when discovered, they are ge- 
nerally, by the force of novelty, carried beyond all 
bounds of moderation. Thus, in the first poetical ef- 
forts of every nation, we find metaphors and similes 
founded on the slightest and most distant resemblances. 
These, losing their grace with their novelty, wear gra- 
duall}^ out of repute ; and at length, on the improve- 
ment of taste, no metaphor or simile, except it be of a 
striking kind, is admitted into any polite composition. 
It is scarcely possible to discover the resemblances upon 
which the following comparisons are founded. 

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art-fair; thou hast 
dove's eyes within thy locks : thy hair is as a flock of goats that ap- 
pear from mount Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that 
are even shorn, which come up from the washing; whereof everyone 
bears twins, and Bone is barren among them. Thy lips are as a 
thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely : thy temples are like a 
piece of a pomegranate within thy locks. Thy neck is like the 
tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thou- 
sand bucklers, all shields of mighty men. Thy two breasts are like 
two young roes that are twins : thy neck is as a tower of ivory ; thine 
eyes like the fish-pools in Heshboti by the gate of Beth-rabbim; thy 
nose is as the tower of Lebanon which looketh toward Damascus.— 
Song of Solomon. 

Between an exemplification and a simile a difference 

is to be remarked. A simile is founded upon the dis- 

i CO very 



COMPARISON. 133 

covery of likeness between two actions, in their gene- 
ral nature dissimilar, or of causes terminating by difFe^ 
rent operations in some resemblance of effect. But the 
mention of another like consequence from a like cause, 
or of a like performance by a like agency, is not a si- 
mile, but an exemplification. It is not a simile to say, 
that the Thames waters fields, as the Po waters fields ; 
or that as Hecla vomits flames in Iceland, so ^tna vo- 
mits flames in Sicily. When Horace says of Pindar, 
that he pours his violence and rapidity of verse, as a ri- 
ver swoln with rain rushes from the mountain ; or of 
himself, that his genius wanders in quest of poetical de- 
corations, as the bee wanders in quest of honey ; he, in 
either case, produces a simile : the mind is impressed 
x\'ith the resemblance of things general!}^ unlike, as un- 
like as intellect and body. But if Pindar had been de- 
scribed as writing with the copiousness and grandeur of 
Homer, or Horace had told us, that he reviewed and 
finished his own poetry with the same care as Isocrates 
polished his orations, he would, instead of similitude, 
have exhibited almost identity ; he would have given 
the same portraits with different names. When Addi- 
son represents the English as gaining a fortified pass, by 
repetition of attack, and perseverance of resolution, 
their obstinacy of courage, and vigour of onset, is well 
illustrated by the sea that breaks, with incessant battery, 
the dikes of Holland. This is a simile : but when the 
same author, after having celebrated the beauty of 
Marlborough's person, tells us that «« Achilles thus w^s 
formed with every grace," he does not employ a simile, 
but a mere exemplification. A simile may be com- 
pared to two lines converging at a point j and it is more 

excellent 



134 COMPARISON. 

excellent as the lines approach from greater distance : 
an exeoiplification may be considered as two parallel 
lines, which run on together without approximation, 
never far separated, and never joined.* 

When comparisons are addressed to the understand- 
ing, their purpose is to instruct ; when to the heart, to 
please. The latter of these purposes is accomplished 
by various means : first, by suggesting some unusual 
resemblance or contrast ; secondly, by setting an object 
in the strongest light ; thirdly, by associating an object 
with others that are agreeable; fourthly, by elevating 
an object ; and, fifthly, by depressing it. Of the two 
following comparisons, the former seems intended to 
instruct, the latter to please. 

As wax would not be adequate to the purpose of signature, if 
it had not the power to retain as well as to receive the impression., 
the same holds of the soul with respect to sense and imagination. 
Sense is its receptive power; imagination its retentive. Had it sense 
without imaginatioti, it would not be as wax, but as water, where, 
though all impressions be instantly made, yet as soon as they are 
made they are instantly lost. — Harris's Hermes. 

Yet, wandering, I found on my ruinous walk. 

By the dial-stone aged and green, 
One rose of the wilderness left on its stalky 

To mark where a garden had been : 
Like abrotherless hermit, the last of its race. 

All wild in the silence of Nature it drew 
From each wandering sunbeam a lonely embrace ; 
For the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the place 

Where the llow'r of my forefathers grew, Camphdl. 

One of the means by which comparisons afford us 

* Johnson's Life of Addisoflo 

pleasure. 



COMPARISON. 135 

pleasure, is the suggestion of some unusual resemblance 
or contrast. It will be necessary td illustrate by par- 
ticular instances. 

Thus they their doubtful consultations dark 

Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief: 

As when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds 

Ascending, while the North-wind sleeps, o'erspread 

Heav'n's chearful face, the low'iing element 

Scowls o^er the darken'd landscape, snow, and shower: 

If chance the radiant sun witli farewell sweet 

Extends his ev'ning beam, the fields revive, 

The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds 

Attest theirjoy, that hill and valley rings. ' MiUon. 

Sweet are the uses of Adversity, 

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomotJSj, 

Wears yet a precious jewel in her head. Shakspeare^ 

See how the IMorning ope's her golden gates. 

And takes her farewell of the glorious Sun; # 

How well resembles it the prime of youtli, 

Trimm'd like a yonker prancing to his love ! Shaks^eare^ 

As the bright stars, and milky way> 

Shew'd by the night, are hid by day: 

So we in that accomplish'd mind, 

Ilelp'd by the night new graces find, 

Which, by the splendour of her view 

Dazzled before, we never knew. Waller. 

None of these similes, as they appear to me^ tend to il- 
lustrate the principal subject : and therefore the chief 
pleasure they afford, must arise from suggesting resem- 
blances "that are not obvious. 

The next effect of a comparison , in the order men- 
tioned, is to place an object in- a conspicuous point of 
view. 



136 COMPARISON'. 

Dr. Brown, in the subsequent passage, alludes to 
those who are under the influence of that false philan- 
thropy which pun;^ies unattainable beneficence, while 
it neglects the duty immediately incumbent, and the 
good that is at hand : 

Persons of this character may be compared to_ those who ascend a 
lofiy mountain, and, overlo:>king every adjacent object, stretch their 
labouring sight to the remotest compass of vision. Fired at last with 
the attempt to descry the distant fading specks on the horizon, they 
return to the plain, and retain no recollection, either of the scenes 
that were immediately under their feet, or of the remote points which 
they discovered with diiftcalty. — Browiis Sermons. 

The godd-ess appears; for Poverty ever comes at the call: But, 
alas ! he finds her by no means the charming figure books and his 
ewn imagination had painted. As when an eastern bride, whom her 
fiiends and relations had long described as a model of perfection, 
pays her first visit, the longing bridegroom lifcs tne veil to see a face 
pa had never seen before; but, instead of a countenance blazing with 
beauty like the sun^ he beholds deformity shooting icicles to his heart; 
such appears Poverty to her new entevtainev,— Goldsmith's Etsai/s, 

There is a joy in grief when peace dwells with the sorrowful. Bu& 
they are wasted with mourning, O daughter of Toscar, and their days 
are few. They fall away like the flower on which the sun looks in 
his strength, after the mildew has passed over it, and its head is heavy 
with the drops of night. — Ossian, 

"Why did not I pass away in secret, like the flower of the rock that 
lifts its fair head' unseen, and strows its withered leaves on the blast.? 
'—Ossian. 

She never told her love, 
But let concealment, like a worm i' th' bud, 
Feed on her damask cheek: she pinM in thoaghtj 
And with a green and yellow melancholy, 
She sat like Patience on a monum^ent, 
guiiling at Grief, Sh^kspeare, 

Yet 



COMPARISON. 137 

Yet sadly it is sung, that she in shades, 

Mildly as mourning doves, love's sorrow felt; 
Whilst in her secret tears, her freshness fades, 

As roses silently in lymbecks melt. Davenanf, 

As streams which with their winding banks do play, 
Stopp'd by their creek, run softly through the plain ; 

So in th' ear's labyrinth the voice doth stray. 

And doth with easy motion touch the brain. Dames, 

Fir'd at first sight with what tlie Muse imparts, 

In fearless youth we tempt the height of arts, 

While from the bounded level of our mind 

Short views we take, nor see the lengths beliind; 

But more advanc'd, behold, with strange surprise^ 

New distant scenes of endless science rise. 

So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try, 

Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky: 

Th' eternal snows appear already past. 

And the first clouds and mountains seem the last; 

But, these attain'd, we tremble to survey 

Tlie growing labours of the lengthen'd vvay : 

Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes; 

Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise. Fope. 

This last comparison, in the opinion of Dr. Johnsorij is 
perhaps the best that English poetry can shew.* 

The long-demurring maid, 
W^hose lonely unappropriated sweets 
Smil'd like yon knot of cowslips on the clifF, 
Not to be come at by the willing hand. Blair. 

Few similes, says Dr. Anderson, can exceed this for 
elegant simplicity.! It likewise tends to place the 
principal subject in the strongest light. 

* Johnson's Life of Pope. 
f Anderson's Life of Blair. 

Another 



138 COMPARISON-. 

Another effect of comparison is to embellish the prin- 
cipal subject by associating it with othei-s that are of an 
agreeable nature. Similes of this kind have also a se- 
parate effect ; they diversify the narration hy means of 
new images which are not strictly necessary to the com- 
parison. They are short episodes, which, without 
drawing us from the principal subject, afford delight by 
their beauty and variety. 

He scarce had ceas'd, when the superior fiend 

Was moving towards the shore; his pond'rous shield, 

Etherial temper, massy, large, and round^ 

Behind him cast; the broad circumference 

Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 

Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 

At evening from the top of Fesole, 

Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 

Rivers or mountains, in her spotty glohe. Al'dton. 

With regi^rd to similes of this kind, it will readily occur 
to the reader that, when a resembling subject is once 
properly introduced, the mind is transitorily amused 
with the new object, and not dissatisfied with the slight 
interruption. Thus, in fine weather, the momentary 
excursions of a traveller for agreeable prospects or ele- 
gant buildings, chear his mind, relieve him from the 
languor of uniformity, and without much lengthening 
liis journey in reality, shorten it greatly in appearance, 
A w^riter may however happen to make too long a di- 
gression : and, in the opinion of some critics, Milton 
has more than once been guilty of this fault. The fol- 
lowing quotation was probably intended as a burlesque 
of such long and digressivfe similes. 

Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, 
Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree, 



COMPARISON. 135) 

Sprung from Cadwalador and Arthur, king* 
I'^ull famous in romantic taie) when he 
' O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliffy 
Upon'a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese, 
High over-shadowing vides, with a design 
To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart, 
Or Maridunum, or the ancient towv> 
Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream 
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil ! 
Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie 
With Massic, Setin, or renownM Falern. Th'tUps, 

Comparisons which tend to aggrandize or elevate an 
object, are next to be exemphfied. 

As rusheth a foamy stream from the dark shady steep of Cromla^ 
wlien thunder is rolling above, and dark brown night rests on the hill: 
so fierce, so vast, so terrible, rush forvi-ard the sons of Erin» Tli^f 
chief, like a whale of ocean followed by all its billows, pours valouj 
forth as a stream, rolling its might along tlic shore,— Oii/ew, 

Ten paces huge 
He back recoilM ; the tenth on bended kn.ee 
His massy spear upstaid ; as if on earth 
Winds underground or waters farcing way, 
Sidelong had pushVl a mountain from his seat 
HaU-sunk with all his pines. Milton^ 

Methinks, king Richard and myself sliouid meet 

"With no less terror than the elements 

Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock 

At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven. ShaJispccre, 

In the last place, it was observed that a comparison 
inay tend to lessen or depress an object. This is ac- 
complished by assimilating the principal subjects to any 
thing low or despicable. 

The overthrown he rais'd, and, as a herd 
Of goats or timorous flocks together throng'd, 

Drove 



140 COMPARISON, 

Drove tliem before him thunder-struck, pursu'd 

With terrors and with furies to the bounds 

And crystal wall of heav'n, which opening wide, 

IloU'd inward, and a spacious gap disclos'd 

Into the wasteful deep : the monstVous sit;ht 

Struck them with horror backward, but far worse 

Urg'd them behind; headlong themselves they threw 

Down from the verge of heav'n. Milton. 

Ill the foregoing enumeration, I have not adverted to 
comparisons introduced for the sake of placing some 
object in a ridiculous point of view. Of these I shall 
now add a few examples. 

I do here walk before thee, like a sow that Iiath overwhelmed all 
her litter but one. — Shakspeare. 

The most accomplished way of using books at present, is to serve 
them as some men do lords, learn their titles, and then brag of their 
acquaintance. — Szcift's Tale of a Tub. 

Some think, that the spirit is apt to feed on the flesh, like hungry 
wines upon raw beef. — Swift on the Mechan. Oper. of the Spirit. 

llemark your commonest pretender to a light within, how dark, 
and gloomy and dirty he is without: as lanthorns, which the more 
light they bear in their bodies, cast out so much the more soot, and 
smoke, and fuliginous matter to -adhere to the sides. — Ibid. 

Same again think, that when our earthly tabernacles are disordered 
and desolate, shaken and out of repair, the spirit delights to dwell 
within them, as houses are said to be haunted when they are for- 
saken and gone to decay. — Ibid. 

Here it may not be amiss to add a few words upon the laudable 
practice of wearing quilted caps. Tiiese, when moistened with 
sweat, stop all perspiration; and, by reverberating the heat, prevent 
the spirit from evaporating any way, but at the mouth; even as a 
skilful iiousewife that covers her still with a wet clout for the same 
reason, and finds the same effect. — Hid. 

Seminaries 



COMPARISON. 141 

Seminaries of learning, as well as particular shops, are sometimes 
frequented more on account of what they have been, than what they 
are: so many intances of this might be produced, that it seems to 
be a prevailing opinion in this island, that talents and genius, like 
cats, are more attached to particular walls and houses than to the 
persons who reside within them. — Moore s Edicard. 

A comparison is sometimes implied ^vhere it is not 
formally expressed. 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd;, 
Or wak'd to extasj the living lyr.e. 

Bat Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 

Chill Penury repress'd tlreir noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unfothom'd caves of ocean bear: 
Full many a flower is born to bud unseen, 

And vv'aste its sweetness on the desert air, Cray, 

I. A comparison must not be instituted between ob- 
jects Avhich bear too near and obvious a resemblance to 
each other. The great pleasure of the act of compar- 
ing lies in discovering likenesses between things of dif- 
ferent species, where we would not, at the first glance, 
expect a resemblance. There is little art or ingenuity 
in pointing out resemblances which cannot escape the 
most careless observer. When Milton compares Satan's 
appearance after his fall "to that of the sun suffering an 
eclipse, a.nd affrighting tlie nations with portentous 
darkness, we are struck with the happiness and the -dig- 
nity of the similitude. But, .when he compares Eve's 
laower in Paradise to the arbour of Pomona, or Eve 

herself 



142 COMPARISON. 

herself to a Dryad, or Wood-nymph, we receive little 
entertainment: every person sees that, in several re- 
spects, onje arbour niust of course resemble another 
arbour, and one beautiful woman another beautiful 
woman. 

ir. As comparisons ought not to be founded on like- 
nesses too obvious, still less ought they to be founded 
on those which are too faint and remote. When diffe- 
rences or resemblances are carried beyond certain 
bounds, they appear slight and trivial '^ and for that 
reason will not be relished by persons of taste. The 
following instance will probably amuse the reader: it is 
a quotation, not from a poet or orator, but from a gi'ave 
author writing an institute of law. 

Our student shall observe, that the knowledge of the law is like a 
deep well, out of which each man draweth according to the strength 
of his understanding. He that reacheth deepest, seetii the amiable 
and admirable secrets of the law, wherein I assure you the sages of 
the law in former times have had the deepest reach. And as the 
bucket in the depth is easily drawn to the uppermost part of the wa- 
ter, (for nullum elementu77i in suo proprio loco est grave,) but take it 
from the water, it cannot be drawn up but with a great difficulty, so, 
albeit beginnings of this study seem difficult, yet when the professor 
of the law can dive into the depth, it is delightful, easy, and" without 
any heavy burden, so long as he keeps himself in his own proper ele- 
ment. — Coke on Littleton. 

This mode of stretching comparisons is admirably ex- 
posed in the following passage, 

Fluellen. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porji : I 
iell you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the orld, I warrant that 
you sail find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, 
that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Ma- 
cedon, there is also moreover a river in Monmouth: it is called Wyf 



COMPARISON". !43 

at Monmoutli, but it is out of my prains what is the name of* the 
other river; but it is all one, 'tis as like as my fingers to my fingers, 
5ind there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, 
Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well; for there 
is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his 
rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, 
and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little in- 
toxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill 
his pest friend Clytus. 

Gower, Our king is not like him in that; he never kill'd any of 
his friends, 

FlueUetu It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out 
of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in figures, 
and comparisons of it: As Alexander killed his friend Clytus, being 
in his ales and his cups; so also Harry of Monmouth, being in his 
Tight wits and his good judgments, turn'd away the fat knight with 
the great belly doublet; he was full of jests, and gypes, and knave- 
ja3s, and mocks: I liave forgot his name. 

Gower. Sir John FalstafF. 

Fluellen. That is he : I tell you, there is good men porn at Moti" 
mouth.— Skakspcare's Henri/ V. 

III. The object from which a comparison is drawn^ 
should never be one of which but few people can form 
clear and distinct ideas. Comparisons are introduced 
into discourse, for the salve of throwing light on the sub- 
ject. We must, therefore, be upon our guard, not to 
employ, as the ground of our simile, any object which 
is either too obscure or unknown. That which is used 
for the purpose of illustrating soma other object, ought 
certainly to be more obvious and plain than the object 
intended to be illustrated. Comparisons, therefore, 
founded on philosophical discoveries, or on anything 
with which persons of a certain profession only are ac- 
quainted, do not produce their proper efiect in any 

piec« 



144 COMPARISOX. 

piece intended for the public at large. They should be 
taken from those illustrious, noted objects, which the 
majority of readers either have seen, or can strongly 
conceive. 

IV. A writer of delicacy will avoid drawing his com- 
parisons from any image that is nauseous, ugly, or re- 
markably disagreeable ; for, however striking the re- 
semblance may be, the reader will be more strongly 
affected with sensations of disgust, than with those of 
pleasure. 

V. The strongest objection "which can be urged 
ao-ainst a comparison, is, that it consists in words onlv, 
not in sense. Such false coin is suitable in the bur- 
lesque ; but it is far beneath the dignity of the epic, or 
of any serious composition. It is disputed among cri- 
tics, whether the following simile be of this descrip- 
tion : 

The noble sister of Poplicola, 

The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle 

That 's curdled by the frost from purest snow, . 

And hangs on Dian's temple. Shakspeare. 

^' There is," says Lord Kames, " evidently no resem- 
blance between an icicle, and a woman, chaste or un- 
chaste : but chastity is cold in a metaphorical sense ; 
and this verbal resemblance, in the hurry and glow of 
composition, has been thought a sufficient foundation 
for the simile. Such phantom similes are mere witti- 
cisms, which ought to have no quarter, except where 
purposely introduced to provoke laughter.'* 

* Karnes's Elements of Criticism^ chap. xix. 

** This," 



METAPHOR. 145 

<^ This," says Mr. Goldsmith, ^^ is no more than il- 
lustrating a quaUty of the mind, by comparing it with 
a sensible object. If there is no impropriety in saying 
such a man is true as steel, firm as a rock, inflexible as 
an oak, unsteady as the ocean, or in describing a dispo- 
sition cold as ice, or fickle as the wind ; and these ex- 
pressions are justified by practice ; we shall hazard an 
assertion, that the comparison of a chaste woman to an 
icicle is proper and picturesque, as it obtains only in 
the circumstances of cold and purity ; but that the ad- 
dition of its being curdled from the purest snow^ and 
hanging on the temple of Diana, the patroness of vir- 
ginity, heightens the whole into a most beautiful si- 
mile."* 



CHAR^ XYII. 

OF METAPHOR. 



/n^NE of the most pleasing exercises of the imagina- 
tion, is that in which she is employed in compar- 
ing distinct ideas, and discovering their various resem- 
blances. There is no simple perception of the mind that 
is not capable of an infinite number of considerations in 
reference to other objects ; and it is in the novelty and 
variety of those unexpected connexions, that the rich- 
ness of a writer's genius is chiefly displayed. A vigo- 
rous and lively fancy does not tamely confine itself to 



* Goldsmith's Essays, vol, ii. essay xyii. 

the 



!46 METAPHOR. 

the idea which lies before it, but looks beyond the im- 
mediate object of its contemplation, and observes how 
it stands in conformity with numberless others. It is 
the prerogative of the human mind thus to bring its 
images together, and compare the several circumstances 
of similitude which attend them. By these means elo- 
quence exercises a kind of magic power ; she can raise 
innumerable beauties from the most barren subjects, 
and give the grace of novelty to the most common. 
The imagination is thus kept awake by the most agree- 
able motion, and entertained with a thousand different 
views both of art and nature, which still terminate at 
the principal object. For this reason, the metaphor is 
generally preferred to the simile, as a more pleasing . 
mode of illustration. In the former, the action of the 
mind is less languid, as it is employed at the very same 
instant in comparing the resemblance with the idea 
which it attends: whereas in the latter, its operations 
are more slow, as it must .first contemplate the princi- 
pal object, and afterwards its corresponding image. 

A metaphor differs from a simile in form only, not in 
substance; comparison being the foundation of both. 
In 5, simile, the two subjects are kept distinct in the ex- 
pression, as well as in the thought • in a metaphor, they 
are kept distinct in the thought, but not in the expres- 
sion. A hero -resembles a lion ; and upon that resem- 
blance many similes have been founded by Homer and 
other poets. Butletus call in the aid of the imagination, 
and figure the hero to be a lion, instead of only resem- 
bling one ; by that variation the simile is converted into 
a metaphor ; which is carried on by describing all the 
qualities of the lion which resemble those of the hero. 

The 



METAPHOR, 147 

The poet, by figuring his hero to be a lion, proceeds to 
describe the lion in appearance ; but in reality he is all 
the while describing the hero; and his description be- 
comes peculiarly beautiful, by expressing the virtues 
and qualities of the hero in terms which properly be- 
long not to him, but to the lion. When I say of some great 
minister, '' that he upholds the state like a pillar which 
supports the weight of a whole edifice," I evidently- 
frame a comparison : but when I say of the same mi- 
nister " that he is a pillar of the state,*' this is not a 
comparison, but a metaphor. The comparison between 
the minister and a pillar is carried on in the mind ; but 
is made without any of the words which denote compa- 
rison. The comparison is only insinuated, not expres- 
sed: the one object is supposed to be so like the other, 
that, without formally drawing the comparison, tha 
name of the one may be substituted for that of the 
other. 

A metaphor always implies comparison, and is, in 
that respect, a figure of thought : yet, as the v/ords in 
which it is conveyed, are not taken literally, but chan- 
■ ged from their proper to a figurative sense, the metaphor 
is commonly ranked among tropes, or figures of words. 
But provided the nature of it be well understood, it is 
of little importance whether we denominate it a trope 
or a figure. 

** The description of natural objects," says Mr. 
Roscoe, " awakes in the poet's mind corresponding 
emotions ^ as his heart warms, his fancy expands, and 
he labom's to convey a more distinct or a more elevated 
idea of the impressions of his own imagination. Hence 
the origin of figures, or figurative language ; in the use 
H of 



I4S ilETAPHOR. 

of which he aims at describing his principal subject, by 
the qualities of some other object more generally known, 
or more striking in its nature. These figures of po- 
etry have furnished the philologists of antient and mo- 
dern times with a great variety of minute distinctions, 
but many of them consist rather in form than in sub- 
stance ; comparison, express or implied, will be found 
to be the essence of them all."* 

Although the word metaphor has been confined to 
the expression of resemblance between two objects, yet 
it is sometimes used in a looser and more extended 
sense : it denotes the application of a term in any figu- 
rative signification, whether the figure be founded on 
resemblance, or on some other relation which two ob- 
jects bear to each other. When grey hairs are substi- 
tuted for old age, some writers would call this a meta- 
phor, though in propriety of language it is only what 
rhetoricians term a metonymy ; that is, the effect for 
the cause. Gray hairs are the effect of old age ; but 
they do not bear any resemblance to it. 

Aristotle, in his Poetics, uses the term metaphor in 
its extended sense, for any figurative meaning imposed 
upon a word ; as a whole put for the part, or a part 
for the whole; a species for the genus, or a genus for 
the srecies. But it would be unjust to tax this most 
acute philosopher with any inaccuracy on this account ; 
the minute subdivisions of tropes being totally unknown 
in his days. 

Every writer ought to become a painter as far as the 
subject which he treats will permit him. Our thoughts 

* lloscoe's Life of Lorenzo de' Medici, vol. i. p. 347. 



METAPHOR. 149 

are susceptible of different colourings : taken separate- 
ly, each has a colour proper to itself; when combined, 
they lend each other mutual light and shade : and the 
art of the writer consists in delicately tracing their re- 
flected tints.* Of all the figures of speech, nqne ap- 
proaches so near to painting as metaphor. Its pecuhar 
tjffect is to add light and strength to description ; to 
make intellectual ideas, in some sort, visible to the eye, 
by giving them colour, and substance, and sensible qua- 
lities. To produce this effect, however, a very delicate 
hand is required ; for, by the smallest degree of inac- 
curacy, we are in hazard of introducing confusion, in- 
stead of promoting perspicuity. There is nothing in 
which a fine writer is so much distinguished from one of 
an ordinary class, as in the conduct and application of 
this figure. He is at liberty to range through the whole 
compass of creation, and collect his images from every 
object which surrounds him. But though he maj- thus 
be amply furnished with materials, great judgment is 
required in selecting them : for, to render a metaphor 
perfect, it must be not only apposite, but pleasing ; it 
must entertain, as v/ell as enlighten. 

I. Metaphors should be suited to the nature of the 
subject of which we treat ; neither too many, nor too 
gay, nor too elevated for it ; that we may neither at- 
tempt to force the subject, by means of them, into a 
degree of elevation which is not consistent with it; nor, 
on the other hand, allow it to sink below its proper dig- 
nity. These directions apply to figurative language in 

* Condiilac, Traitedel'Art d'Ecrire, liv. ii, chap. vi. 
i .general. 



150 METAPHOR. 

general, and should always be kept in view. Some me- 
taphors are allowable, nay beautiful, in poetry, which 
it would be absurd to employ in prose : some may be 
graceful in orations, which would be very improper in 
historical or philosophical composition. P'igures are 
the dress of our sentiments. There is a natural con- 
gruity between the dress, and the character or rank of 
the person who wears it. The same is the case with re- 
gard to figures and sentiments. The excessive or un- 
seasonable employment of figures is mere foppery in 
■writing : it gives a puerile air to composition ; and di- 
minishes the dignity of a subject rather than exalts it. 
For, as, in real life, true dignity is founded on character, 
not on dress and parade, so the dignity of composi- 
tion must arise from intelligence and thought, not from 
ornament. The same sentiment is happily inculcated 
by a very able writer, in one of his masterly sermons.! 
" There is," says Dr. Brown, '^ a certain taste in 
character and in moral judgment, as well as in the fine 
arts, which can be acqmred only by a sound under 
standing, improved by extensive observation, and by' 
opportunities of contemplating the best models of vir- 
tue which our present degraded and miserable stale can 
afford. Striking, but incoherent design, tumid and ex- 
travagant diction, passion affected, and ill placed, glar- 
inc»* colouring, and meretricious ornament of every, 
kind, are, by uncultivated minds, preferred to the just 
proportion, the modest simplicity, and the chaste ele- 
gance of nature." 

Figures and metaphors should, upon no occasion, be 'j, 
scattered with too profuse a hand ; and they should ne 
rer be incongruous with the train of our sentiment i 

Nothin 



sul 



METAPHOR. 151 

Nothing can be more unnatural, than for a Avriter to 
carry on a process of reasoning, in the same kind of 
figurative language which he would employ in descrip- 
tion. When he reasons, we look only for perspicuity ; 
when he describes, we expect embellishment; when he 
divides, or relates, we desire plainness and simplicity. 
One of the greatest secrets in composition is, to know 
when to be simple. 1 his always lends a heightening to 
ornament, in its proper place. The judicious dispo- 
sition of shade makes the lioht and colourinp- strike the 
more. He is truly eloquent, who can discourse of 
humble subjects in a plain style, who can treat impor- 
tant ones with dignity, and speak of things which are 
of a middle nature, in a temperate strain. For, one 
who, upon no occasion, can express himself in a calm, 
orderly, distinct manner, when he begins to be on firo 
before his readers are prepared to kindle along with 
him, has the appearance of a madman raving among 
persons who enjoy the use of their reason, or of a 
drunkard reehng in the midst of sober company. 

The following quotation affords an instance of mci- 
taphorical language rising to bombast. 

The bill underwent a great number of alterations and amend- 
ments, which were not effected without violent contest : at length, 
however, it was floated through both houses, on the tide of a great 
majority, and steered into the. safe harbour of royal approbation. — ■. 
Smollett's History of England. 

II. Metaphors should never be drawn from objects 
which are mean or disagreeable. Even when introduced 
to vilify and degrade any subject, an author should 
study never to be nauseous in his allusions. But in 
subjects of dignity, it is an unpardonable fault to em- 
ploy 



152 . METAPHOR. 

ploy metapboi-s which are mean and vulgar. All Na- 
ture opens her stores to us, and admits us to gather 
from all sensible objects, Avhatever can illustrate intel- 
lectual or moral ideas. Not only the gay and splendid 
objects of sense, but the grave, the terrifying, and even 
the gloomy and dismal, may, on different occasions, be 
introduced into figures with propriety. But we must 
always be cautious and select in our choice. 

In the following passage there occurs an unpardon- 
able'breach cf this obvious rule. 

Some bad poems carry their owners' marks about them, some brand 
or other oa this buttock or that ear, that it is notorious who is the 
owner of the cattle. — Dri/de7i, Dedication of JuvenaU 

in. But, besides atiertain decorum which is requi- 
site to constitute a perfect metaphor, a writer of true 
taste and genius will always select the most obvious 
images, and place them in the most unobserved points 
of resemblance. Every metaphor should carry the ap- 
pearance of having been led, not of having forced itself ! 
into the place of that word whose room it occupies: it 
should seem to have come thither of its own accord, and 
not by constraint. All allusions which point to the 
more abstruse branches of the arts or sciences, and with 
which none can be supposed to be acquainted but those 
who have penetrated far into the deeper studies, should 
be carefully avoided, not only as pedantic, but as imper- 
tinent : they pervert the use of this figure, and add nei- 
ther grace nor force to the idea w^hich they would eluci- 
date. The most pleasing metaphors, therefore, are 
those which are derived from the most frequent occur- 
rences of art or nature, or the civil transactions and 

customs 



METAPHOR* 153 

customs of mankind. Thus how expressive, yet at the 
same time, how familiar, is that image which Ot^vay 
has put into the mouth of Metellus, in his tragedy of 
Cuius Marius, where he calls Sulpitius 

That mad bull whom Marius lets loose 

On each occasion, when he'd make Rome feel him, 

To toss our laws and liberties i' th' air. 

The transgression of the above rules forms what are 
called harsh or forced metaphors. With metaphors of 
this kind, Jonson, Donne, Co\^ley, and other poets of 
the same class, abound. They seem to have considered 
it as the perfection of wit, to trace likenesses which no 
other person could have discovered : and at the same 
time they carry these metaphors so far, that it requires- 
some ingenuity to follow them out, and comprehend 
them. Instead of illustrating the subject of which they 
treat, their metaphors generally cast around it a cloud 
of impenetrable darkness. 

Some writers endeavour to palliate the harshness of 
their metaphors by interposing such mitigating phrases 
as, so to speak, as it were, if 1 may be allowed the ex- 
pression : and this method has received the sanction of 
Aristotle, Theophrastus, Longinus, Cicero, and Quin- 
tihan. Notwithstanding the authority of such great 
names, it must certainly be allowed that any of these 
phrases forms a very awkward parenthesis: and per-> 
haps metaphors which require such an apology, would 
be better omitted. 

IV. In constructing a metaphor, the writer ought to 
confine himself to the simplest expressions, and to make 
use of such words only as are literally applicable to 

the 



154 METAPHOR. 

the imagined nature of his subject. Figurative words 
ought carefully to be avoided : for such comphcated 
figures, instead of placing the principal subject in a 
clear light, involve it in obscurity. 

A stubborn and unconquerable flame 

Creeps in his veins, and drinks the streams of hCe.'—Rozoe, 

That a fever maybe imagined a flame, I admit ; though 
more steps than one are necessary to come at the re- 
semblance : a fever, by heating the bod}^, resembles 
fire ; and it requires no effort to imagine a fever to be a 
fire: again, by a figure of speech, flame may be put 
for fire, because they are commonly conjoined ; and 
therefore a fever may be termed a flame. But admit- 
ting this, the effects of the fever ought to be explained 
in words which apply to a flame in a literal sense. 
This rule, however, is not observed ; for a flame drinks 
figuratively only, not properly. 

I am convinced that the method of teaching which approaches 
most nearly to the method of investigation, is incomparably the best; 
since not content with serving up a few barren and lifeless truths, it 
leads to the stalk on which they grow. — Burke on the Sublime and 
Beautiful. 

The metaphor which occurs in the latter part of this 
sentence, is of the same description. Truth is here 
figured to be the fruit of a true ; but the epithet lifeless 
can only be applied metaphorically to fruits. 

There is not a single view of human nature, which is not sufficient 
to extinguish the seeds of pride. — Addison, Spectator, 

When a seed has lost its power of vegetation, we might 
say, in a metaphorical sense, it is extinguished : but 
when in the same sense w^e call that disposition of the 

heart 



METAPHOR. t55 

heart which produces pride, the seed of passioii, we 
cannot, without introducing a confusion of ideas, apply 
any word to seed, but what corresponds with its reai 
properties or circumstances. 

V. Different metaphors ought never to be confused 
together in the same sentence. The use of mixed me- 
taphor is one of the grossest abuses of this figure. Some 
writers begin sentences with storms and tempests, and 
close them with fire and flames. 

Though in their corrupt notions of divine worship, they are apt to 
multiply their gods, yet their earthly devotion is seldom paid to above 
one idol at a time, whose oar they pull with less murmuring and 
much more skill, than when they share the lading, or even hold 
the helm.— Szcift on the Contests and D issentions in Athens .und Kome. 
The most injudicious writer could not have been be- 
trayed into a more absurd inconsistency of metaphor. 
The favourite of the people is first an idol ; and in the 
very next clause, he is figured to be a vessel. What 
connexion is there between worshipping and rowing, 
and who ever heard before of pulling the oar of an 
idol? 

Women were formed to temper mankind, not to set an edge up/^n 
their minds, and blow up in them those passions which are apt to rise 
of their own accord. — Addison, Spectator. 

The act of setting an edge, and the act of blowing up, 
bear no analogy to each other. 

The charm dissolves apace, 
And as the morning steals upon the night, 
IMelting the darkness, so their rir^ing senses 
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
Their dearer reason. Shaksjtear*^ 

H 5 S0 



155 METAPHOR. 

So many ill- consorted ideas are here brought together, 
that the mind can see nothing clearly; — the morning 
stealing upon the darkness, and at the same time melt- 
ing it ; the senses of men chasing fumes, and fumes 

that mantle. 

As glorious 
As is a winged messenger from heaven, 
Unto the white upturned wondering^eyes 
Of mortals^ that fall back to gaze on him, 
"When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds^ 
And sails upon the bosom of the air. — Shakspeare, 

Here the angel is represented at one instant as bestrid- 
ing the clouds and sailing upon the air ; and upon the 
bosom of the air too. This forms a picture too con- 
fused for the imagination to comprehend. 
All then is full, possessing and possest, 
No craving void left aching in the breast. — Tope. 

A void may, in a metaphorical sense, be said to crave ; 

but can a void be said to ache l 

1 bridle in my struggling Muse with pain, 

That longs to launch into a bolder strain. — Addison, 

To bridle a goddess is no very delicate idea : but why 
must she be bridled ? because she longs to launch ; an: 
act which was never hindered by a bridle : and whither 
would she launch ? into a nobler strain. In the first 
line she is a horse, in the second a boat ; and the care 
of the poet is to keep his horse or his boat from 
singing.* 

A good rule has been suggested for examining the 
propriety of metaphors, when we suspect them to be 

^ Johnson's Life of Addison, 

ef 



METAPHOR. 157 

of a mixed kind : we should consider what sort of a 
figure the image they present to the mind would exhi- 
bit upon canvas. By this method, we should become 
sensible, whether incongruous circumstances were 
mixed, or the object was presented in one natural and 
consistent point of view. 

VI. It is unpleasant to find different metaphors 
joined in the same period, even where they are pre- 
served distinct. The rapid transition distracts the 
mind; and the images are rendered too faint to pro- 
duce any powerful effect upon the imagination. 

VII. Metaphorical and proper expressions ought 
never to be so interwoven together that part of the 
sentence must be understood figuratively and part li- 
terally. The imagination cannot follow with sufficient 
ease, changes so sudden and unprepared, A metaphor 
begun, and not carried on, has no beauty. Instances 
of such incorrect composition are without number ; 
but I shall content myself with giving a single ex- 
ample. 

When thus, as I may say, before the use of the loadstone, or 
knowledge of the compass, I was sailing in a vast ocean, witlaout 
other help than the pole-star of the ancients, and the rules of the 
French stage among the moderns. — Dry den j Dedication of Juvenal, 

Here the v/riter suddenly falls from the polar-star, and 
alights upon the French stage. 

VIII. Metaphorji should not be too far pursued. If 
the resemblance on which the figure is founded, be 
long dwelt upon, and carried into all its minute cir- 
cumstances. 



15S METAPHOR. 

cumstances, we form an allegory instead of a meta- 
phor; we fatigue the reader with this play of fancy, 
and likewise render our discourse obscure. This is 
called hunting a metaphor down. Lord Shaftesbury is 
sometimes guilty of pursuing his metaphors too far. 
Fond, to an uncommon degree, of every decoration of 
style, when he has once adopted a figure which pleases 
him, he always seems unwilling to part with it. Thus, 
having represented soliloquy under the metaphor of a 
proper method of evacuation for an author, he pursues 
the figure through several pages, under all the forms 
*' of discharging crudities, throwing off froth and scum, 
bodily operation, taking physic, curing indigestion, 
giving vent to choier, bile, flatulences and tumours,*'* 
till, at last, the idea becomes perfectly nauseous and 
disgusting. 

IX. There is a double beauty In figures of this kind 
when they are not only metaphors but allusions. Thus, 
a very original poet, speaking of the advantages of ex- 
ercise in dissipating those gloomy vapours which are 
apt to hang upon ^ome minds, employs the following 
image : - 

Throw but a stone, the giant dies. — Green^ 

The metaphor here is conceived with great propriety 
of thought, if we consider it only in its primary view j 
but when we see it pointing still farther, and hinting at 
the story of David and Goiiah, it receives a very con- 
siderable improvement from the double application. 

* Shaftesbury's Advice to an Author, 

Several 



METAPHOR. 159 

Several examples of impropriety in the use of meta- 
phor have been pointed out : we shall now turn to the 
contemplation of examples of a different kind. 

*Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 

And coming events cast their shadows before. — Campbell, 

O ! when the growling winds contend, and all 

The sounding forest fluctuates in the storm, 

To sink in warm repose, and hear the din 

Kowl o'er the steady battlements. Armstrong. 

Here the wordjluctuates is used with admirable efficacy : 
it not only exhibits an image of struggling, but also 
echoes to the sense.* The metaphor is simple and 
consistent : it depends upon the resemblance between 
the wraves of the sea, and the violent agitation of trees 
during a storm. 

I have sometimes considered the bosom of an old maid as a kind 
of cell, in which it was intended that the lively bee, affection, should 
treasure up its collected sweets; but this bee happening to perish, 
, before it could properly settle on the flowers that should afford its 
wealth, the vacant cell may unluckily become the abode of that 
drone indifference, or of the wasp malignity. — Haylei/s Essay on 
Old Maids. . 

Talents, disjoined from kindness, meekness, and charity, are not 
those glorious luminaries that shed their benignant influence on 
earth, but the glaring lightning that alarms, and blasts, and ravages 
whatever is placed in its way. — Brown^s Sermons. 

Addison, in his excellent critique on Paradise Lost, 
is taking notice of those changes in nature which the 
author of that truly divine poem describes as imme- 
diately succeeding the fall. Among other prodigies, 
Milton represents the sun in an eclipse, and at the 

* Goldsmith's Essays, rol, ii, essay xvii. 

same 



160 METAPHOR, 

same time a bright cloud in the western regions of the 
heavens descending with a band of angels. The critic, 
to show his author's art and judgment in the conduct 
and disposition of this sublime scenery, employs the 
following metaphor : 

The whole theatre of nature is darkened, that this glorious ma* 
chine may appear in all its lustre and magnificence. 
Here the figure is beautiful and expressive. 

Speaking of the behaviour of Charles the first to his 
last parliament : 

About a month after their meeting, he dissolved them; and a& 
soon as he dissolved them, he repented; but he repented too late of 
his rashness. Well might he repent; for the vessel was now full, 
and this last drop made the waters of bitterness overflow. Here 
we draw the curtain, and put an end to our remarks. — BoUnghroke^s^ 
'Remarlis on the History of England. 

Nothing could be more happily conducted. A figure 
of this kind, judiciously managed, forms a spirited and 
dignified conclusion to a subject. The author retires 
with a good grace, and leaves a strong impression on 
the reader's mind. 

The judicious use of metaphor serves to add light to 
the expression and energy to the sentiment. But, on 
the contrary, when this figure is unskilfully employed, 
it tends effectually to cloud the sense ; and upon some 
occasions, may even tend to conceal the author*^s want 
of meaning. This may happen, not only when there is 
in the same sentence a mixture of discordant meta- 
phors, but also where the metaphorical style is toa 
long continued, or too far pursued. The reason is ob- 
vious. In common speech the words are the immediate 
signs of the thought. But here the case is different : 

for 



METAPHOR. 161 

for when a writer, instead of adopting such metaphors 
as naturally and opportunely present themselves, rum- 
mages the universe in quest of these flowers of oratory, 
and piles them one above another ; -when he cannot so 
properly be said to use metaphor, as to speak in meta- 
phor, or rather from metaphor he runs into allegory, 
and thence into aenigma ; his words cannot be affirmed 
to be the immediate signs of his thoughts ; they are the 
signs of the signs of his thoughts. His compositioa 
may then be termed w^hat Spenser styles his Faery 
^ueen^ *' a perpetual allegory or dark conceit." 

Writers that fall into this error, are often misled by 
a desire of flourishing on the several attributes of a 
metaphor which they have pompously ushered into 
their discourse, without taking the trouble to examine 
whether there be any qualities in the subject to which 
these attributes can with justice and perspicuity be ap- 
plied. Of exuberance of metaphor I shall produce one 
example. 

Men must acquire a very peculiar and strong habit of turning 
their eye inwards, in order to explore the interior regions and re- 
cesses of the mind, the hollow caverns of deep thought, the private 
seats of fancy, and the wastes and wildernesses, as well as rhe more 
fruitful and cultivated tracts of this obscure climate. — Shafteshur^s 
Miscellaneous Reflections, 

Here the author having determined to represent the 
human mind under the metaphor of a country, revolves 
in his thoughts the various objects which might be 
found in a country, but has never dreamt of consider- 
ing whether there be any common points of resem- 
blance between these subjects of his figure. Hence 
the strange parade he makes with regions^ recesses, 

hoU(m 



162 ALLEGORY. 

hollow caverns^ private seats, x&astes, wildernesses^ fruits 
Jul and cultivated tracts ; terms which, though they 
have an appropriate meaning as applied to a country, 
have no definite signification when applied to mind. 
Some objects may, without impropriety, be alluded to 
in a cursory manner, though they will become ridicu- 
lous by being too long tortured in a figure or trope. 
Thus, notwithstanding the impropriety of the passage 
now quoted from Shaftesbury, there is nothing repre- 
hensible in the following couplet, which contains a 
metaphor of the same nature and origin. 
Farewell, for clearer ken designed, 
The dim-discover'd tracts of mind. Collins, 



CHAR XVIIL 

OF ALLEGORY. 



A N allegory may be considered as a continued meta- 
phor. It consists in representing one subject by 
another analogous to it. The subject thus represented 
is kept out of view ; and we are left to discorer it by 
reflection. This furnishes a very pleasant exercise to 
our faculties. 

There cannot be a finer or more correct allegory 
than the follov/ing, in which the Jewish nation is repre- 
sented under the symbol of a vineyard. 

Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt: thou hast cast oat 
the heathen, and planted it. Thou preparedst room before it, and 
didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills 
were covered with the shadow of it, and the boughs thereof were 

lit* 



ALLEGORY. l6S 

like the goorlly cedars. Why hast thoa broken down her hedges, 
so that all they which pass by the way do phick her? The boar out 
of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast of the field doth 
devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts; look down 
from heaven, and behold and visit this vine, and the vineyard which 
thy right hand hath planted, and the branch which thou madest 
strong for thyself. — Psalms. 

Here there is no circumstance that does not strictly 
agree with a vine ; while at the same time, the whole 
quadrates happily with the Jewish state represented by 
this figure. It is the principal requisite in the conduct 
of an allegory, that the figurative and the literal 
meaning be not inconsistently mixed together. If, 
instead of describing the vine as wasted by the boar out 
of the wood, and devoured by the wild beast of the 
field, the psalmist had said, that it -was afflicted by 
heathens, or overcome by enemies, this w^ould have 
ruined the allegory, and produced the same confusion 
that has been remarked in those metaphors in which 
the figurative and literal sense are confounded together. 
Indeed, the rules which have been given wdth respect 
to metaphors may also be applied to allegories, on 
account of the affinity that they bear to each other. 
The only material difference between them, besides the 
one being short, and the other prolonged, is, that a 
metaphor always explains itself by the words which 
are connected wdth it in their proper and natural 
meaning. When I say, ** Wallace was a thunderbolt 
of war,'* '* in peace Fingal was the gale of spring," 
the thunderbolt of war, and the gale of spring are 
sufficiently interpreted by the mention of Wallace and 
Fingal. But an allegory may be allowed to stand 

more 



'i64f ALLEGORTa 

more unconnected with the literal meaning ; the infer-' 
pretation is not so directly pointed out, but left to our 
own discovery. 

Allegories were a favourite method of delivering in- 
struction in ancient times ; for what we call fables or 
parables are no other than allegories ; and those fabies 
are to be found among the earliest productions of 
literature. They represent the dispositions of men by 
words and actions attributed to beasts" and inanimate 
objects ; and what we call the moral, is the simple 
meaning of the allegory. An aenigma or riddl^ is alsa 
a figure of this kind. One thing is imaged by anotner, 
but purposely rendered obscure by being involved in a 
complication of circumstances. Where a riddle is not 
intended, it is always a fault in allegory to be too dark. 
The meaning should be easily seen through the figure 
employed to shadow it. The proper mixture of light 
and shade in such compositions, the exact adjustment 
of all the figurative circumstances with the literal sense, 
so as neither to lay the meaning too open, nor to cover 
it too closely, has ever been found an affair of great 
nicety ; and in allegorical compositions of any length, 
few writers have succeeded. 

An allegory is in every respect similar to a hierogly- 
phical painting, excepting only that words are used 
instead of colours. Their effects are precisely the 
same : a hieroglyphic raises two images in the mind ; 
one seen, which represents one not seen. The same 
is the case with an allegory : the representative sub- 
ject is described ; and the resemblance leads us to 
apply the description to the subject represented. 

Nothing affords greater pleasure than this figure, 

whea 



ALLEGORY. 165 

when the representative subject bears a strong analogy, 
in all its circumstances, to that which is represented. 
But the choice is seldom so fortunate; the analogy 
being generally so faint and obscure as to puzzle 
instead of pleasing. An allegory is still more difficult 
in painting than in writing : the former can shew no 
resemblance but what appears to the eye ; whereas 
the latter has many other resources. 

In an allegory, as well as in a metaphor, such terms 
ought to be chosen as are literally applicable to the 
representative subject : nor ought any circumstance to 
be added that is not proper to that subject, however 
justly it may apply to the principal either in a figu- 
rative or proper sense. Our view must never wave 
between the type and the anti-type. 

For the further illustration of the nature of allegory^ 
I shall subjoin a few miscellaneous examples.* 

My well-beloved had a vineyard in a very fruitful hill : and he 
fenced it, and gathered out the stones thereof, and planted it with 
the choicest vine, and built a tower in the midst of it, and also made 
a wine-press therein : and he looked that it should bring forth, 
grapes, and it brought forth wild grapes. And now, O inhabitants 
of Jerusalem, and men of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt me and 
my vineyard. What could have been done more to ray vineyard, 
that I have not done in it? wherefore, when I looked that it should 
bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes? And now, go to; 
I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard : I will take away the 
hedge thereof, and it shall be eaten up, and break down the wall 
thereof, and it shall be trodden down. And I will lay it waste: it 
shall not be pruned nor digged ; but there shall come up briars and 
thorns : I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon 

* Various remarks on allegorical composition occur in Mr. War- 
ton's Observations on Spenser, 2 vols. 8vo, 



166 THE CONCISE AND 

it. For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, andf 
the men of Judah his pleasant plant. — Isaiah, 

Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss. 

But chperly seek how to redress their harms. 

What though the mast be now blown overboard, 

The cable broke, the holding-anchor lost, 

And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood? 

Yet lives our pilot still. Is 't meet, that he 

Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad. 

With tearful eyes add water to the sea, 

And give more strength to that which hath too liiuch j 

While in his moan the ship splits on the rock, 

Which industry and courage might have sav'd ? — Shakspeare. 

Ha! thou hast rous'd 
The lion in his den ; he stalks abroad, 
And the wide forest trembles at his xotiV^-^Southerner 

Did I but purpose to embark with thee 

On the smooth surface of a summer's sea, 

W'hile gentle zephyrs play with prosperous gales, 

And Fortune's favour fills the swelling sails ; 

But would forsake the ship and make the shore, 

When the winds whistle and the tempests roar ?«— Pr/or, 



CHAP. XIX. 

OF THE CONCISE AND THE DIFFUSE STTLE. 

TT has already been hinted that, as words are copies 
of our ideas, there must always be a very intimate 
connexion between the manner in which every writer 
employs words, and his manner of thinking; and that, 
by the peculiarity of his thought and expression, there 
is a certain character imprinted on his style, which 

may 



THE DIFFUSE STYLE. 16/ 

may be denominated his manner. The terms which 
■\ve use in order to express the general manner of 
different authors, bear some reference to their mode of 
thinking ; but refer chiefly to their mode of expression. 
The distinctions of nervous and feeble, simple and 
affected, arise from the whole tenor of a writer's lan- 
guage ; and comprehend the effect produced by all 
those parts of style which we have already considered ; 
the choice which he makes of single words, his 
arrangement of these in sentences ; the degree of his 
precision ; and his embellishment, by means of musi- 
cal cadence, or the various figures of speech. 

That different subjects require to be treated in 
different sorts of style, is a position too evident to 
sta,nd in need of illustration* Philosophy demands 
one kind of st^^le, oratory another; and different parts 
of the same composition require a variation in the style 
and manner. But amidst this variety, we still expect 
to find, in the writings of the same individual, some 
degree of uniformity, or consistency with himself; we 
expect to find some predominant character of style 
impressed on all his works, which shall be suited to his 
particular genius, and turn of mind. Wherever there 
is real and native genius, it gives a determination to 
one kind of style rather than another. Where nothing 
of this description appears, where there is no marked 
or peculiar character in the compositions of an author, 
we ai^e apt to infer that he writes from imitation, and 
not from the impulse of original genius. 

One of the most obvious distinctions of style arises 
from the conciseness or the diffuseness with which an 
author expresses his sentiments. A concise writer 

compresses 



168 THE CONCISE AND 

compresses his thoughts into the fewest possible words ; 
he employs none but such as are most significant ; he 
lops off every vague and redundant expression. Orna- 
ment he does not reject ; he may be lively and figu- 
rative; but his ornaments are introduced in order to 
add force to his diction. He never repeats the same 
thought. His sentences are arranged with compact- 
ness and strength, rather than with grace and harmony. 
The utmost precision is studied in them ; and they are 
commonly designed to suggest more to the reader's 
imagination than they directly express. On the other 
hand, a diffuse writer places his ideas in a variety of 
lights, and gives the reader every possible assistance 
for understanding them completely. He is not solici- 
tous to express them at once in their full extent, be- 
cause he generally repeats the impression ; and what 
he wants in strength, he proposes to supply by copi- 
ousness. Writers of this character commonly love 
magnificence and amplification. Their periods natu- 
rally run out into some length ^ and, having room for 
ornament, they admit it freely. 

Each of these manners has its peculiar advantages ;, 
and each becomes faulty when carried to the extreme. 
The extreme of conciseness degenerates into abrupt- 
ness and obscurity ; and is apt to introduce a style too 
pointed, and bordering on the epigrammatic. The 
extreme of difFuseness becomes weak and languid, and 
fatigues the reader. However, to one or other of these 
two manners, a writer may lean according as his genius 
prompts him ; and, under the general ciiaracter of a con- 
cise or of a diffuse style, ma}'- possess much beauty in 
his composition, 

1 III 



THE DIFFUSE STYLE. 1G,9 

In judging ■when it is proper to incline to the con- 
cise, and when to the diffuse manner, we must be di- 
rected by the nature of the composition. Discourses 
■which are to be spoken, require a more copious style, 
than books -which are to be read. When the whole 
meaning must be caught from the mouth of the speaker, 
without the advantage which books afford of pausing at 
pleasure, and reviewing what appears obscure, great 
conciseness is always to be avoided. We should never 
presume too much on the quickness of our hearer's 
understanding; but our style ought to be such, that 
any person of common capacity may comprehend our 
meaning without effort. A flowing copious style, 
therefore, is required in all public speakers. They 
ought at the same time to guard against such a degree 
of diffusion as renders them languid and tiresome. 

In written compositions, a certain degree of con- 
ciseness possesses great advantages. It appears lively ; 
keeps up the attention ; makes a stronger impression ; 
and gratifies the mind by supplying more exercise to 
the reader's faculties. — A concise comprehensive style 
is a great ornament in narration ; and a superfluity of 
unnecessary Avords altogether improper. A judicious 
selection of strikipg circumstances clothed in nervous 
and concise language, produces a delightful eflfect. — 
In addresses to the passions, the concise manner ought 
to be adopted, in preference to the diffuse. When we 
become prolix, we are always in hazard of cooling the 
reader. And when the imagination and heart are pro- 
perly engaged, they supply many particulars to greater 
advantage than an author can display them. The case 
is different, when we address ourselves to the under- 

standinar ; 



170 THE CONCISE AND 

Standing; as in all matters of reasoning, explication, 
and instruction. There I would prefer a more free 
and diffuse manner. When you would captivate the 
fancy, or engage the heart, be concise ; when you 
would inform the understanding, be more copious and 
diffuse. The understanding moves more slowly, and 
requires to be assisted in its operations. 

A diffuse style generally abounds in long periods ; and 
a concise style often in short ones. It is not, however, 
to be- inferred that long or short sentences are fully 
characteristic of the one or the other. An author may 
always employ short periods, and yet be very diffuse : 
a scanty portion of sentiment may spread through a 
great number of those periods. Some authors, by the 
shortness and quaintness of their sentences, may at first 
view appear very concise, without being so in reality. 
They transfigure the same thought into many different 
forms, and make it pass for a new one, only by giving 
a, new turn to the expression. Thus, most of the 
French writers compose in short sentences; though 
their style in general is far from being concise., They 
commonly break down into two or three periods, a 
portion of thought which a British author would crowd 
into one. In like manner, an author may employ long 
periods, and yet be concise : his p'eriods may be long, 
without being overloaded with any redundancy of ex- 
pression. Thus, in the writings of Lord Kames, we 
frequently meet with lengthened sentences, though 
seldom with errors in point of conciseness. 

Thr direct tendency of short sentences is to render 
style brisk and lively, but not always concise. They 
ieep the mind aw^ake by means of quick successive 

impulses 



THE DIFFUSE STYLE. I7I 

impulses ; and give to composition more of a spirited 
character. Long periods are grave and stately ; but, 
like all grave things, they are apt to become dull. 

The following quotation may serve as an instance of 
the copious and diffuse style, 

I can easily admire poetry, and yet without adoring it ; I can 
^Uow it to arise from the greatest excellence of natural temper, or 
the greatest race of native genius, without exceeding the reacfi of 
what is human, or giving it any approaches of divinity, which is, I 
doubt, debased or dishonoured by ascribing to it any thing that is 
in the compass of our action, or even comprehensioji, unless it be 
raised by an immediate influence from itself. I cannot allow 
poetry to be more divine in its effects than in its causes, nor any 
operation produced by it to be more than purely natural, or to 
deserve any other sort of wonder than those of music, or of natural 
magic, however nny of them have appeared to minds little versed in 
the speculations of nature, of occult qualities, and the force of num- 
bers or of sounds. Whoever talks of drawing down the moon from 
heaven, by force of verses or of charms, either believes not himself, 
or too easily believes what others told him, or perhaps follows an 
opinion begun by the practice of some poet, upon the facility of 
some people, who, knowing the time when an eclipse would happen, 
told them he would by his charms call down the moon at such an 
huur, and was by them thought to have performed it.— When I read 
r:hat charming description in Virgil's eighth Eclogue of. all sorts of 
charms and fascinations by verses, by images, by knots, by numbers, 
by fire, by her])s, employed upon occasion of a violent passion, 
from a jealous or disappointed love ; I have recourse to the strong 
impressions of fables and of poetry, to the easy mistakes of popular 
opinions, to the force of imagination, to the secret virtues of several 
kerbs, and to the powers of sounds: and I am sorry the natural 
history, or account of fascination, has not employed the pen gf some 
person of such excellent wit and deep thought and learning, as 
Casaubon, who writ that curious and useful treatise of enthusiasm, 
and by it discovered the hidden or mistaken sources of that delusion, 
60 frequent in ail regions and relisions of the world, and which had 



172 THE CONCISE AND 

so fatally spread over our country in that age in which this treatise 
was so seasonably published. ^Tis much to be lamented that he 
lived not to complete that work in the second part he promised; 
or that his friends neglected the publishing it, if it were left in 
papers, though loose and unfinished. I think a clear account of 
enthusiasm and fascination, from their natural causes, would very 
much deserve from mankind in general, as vv'ell as from the com- 
monwealth of learning; might perhaps prevent so many public 
disorders, and save the lives of so many innocent, deluded, or 
deluding people, who suffer so frequently upon account of witches 
and wizards. I have seen many miserable examples of this kind 
in my youth at home,; and though the humour or fashion be a good 
deal worn out of the world within thirty or fortj years past, yet it 
still remains in several remote parts of Germany, Sweden, and 
some other countries* — Temple on Pottry. 

Of the concise style, I shall likewise subjoin an 
example* 

A man, while awake, is conscious of a continued train of per- 
jceptions and ideas passing in his mind. It requires no activity on 
liis part to carry on the train : nor can he at will add to the train 
^ny idea that has no connexion with it. At the same time we 
learn from daily experience, that the train of our thoughts is not 
regulated by chance: and if it depend not upon will, nor upon 
chance, by what law is it governed? The question is of importance 
in the science of human nature; and I promise beforehand, that it: 
will be found of great importance in the fine arts. — It appears that 
the relations by which things are linked together, have a great 
influence in directing the train of thought. Taking a view of 
jexternal objects, we see that their inherent properties are not more 
remarkable than their vai'ious relations which connect them together: 
oi.e thing, perceived to be a cause, is connected with its several 
tlTects; some things are connected by contiguity in time, others by 
cf ntignity i'l t^pace; some are connected by resemblance, some by 
contrast; some go before, some follow: not a single thing appears 
solitary and altogether devoid of connection ; the only difference 
is, that some are ultimately connected, some more slightly, some 

near. 



THE DIFFUSE STYLE. 173 

wear, some at a distance. — Experience will satisfy us of %vhat 
Teasou makes probable, that the train of our thoughts is in a great 
measure regulated by the foregoing connections: an external object 
is no sooner presented to us in idea, than it suggests to the mind 
other oljjects v/ith whida it is connected; and in this manner is a 
train of thoughts composed. Such is the law of succession: whether 
a«i original law, or whether directed by some latent principle, is 
doubtful ; and probably will for ever remain so. This law, how- 
ever, is not inviolable: it sometimes happens, tliat an idea arise* 
in the mind without that connection ; as for example, after « 
profound steep. — Karnes's Elements of Criticism. 

In this passage nothing is vag lie or redundant: every 
"word and expression is appropriate. 

Of all writers, ancient and modern, Aristotle, Taci- 
tus, and Montesquieu, afford the most remarkable in- 
stances of conciseness in style. The language of 
Locke and Clarke, though far from being highly po- 
lished, is also concise, and, upon the whole, not badly 
adapted to the profound speculations of those authors. 
The style of Dr. Heid is entitled to no small praisG on 
account of the same quality. He always expresses 
himself with clearness, and seldom makes use of a 
word that could be changed for a better. 

Of a beautiful and magnificent diffuseness, the works 
iof Plato and Cicero exhibit, beyond doubt, the most 
illustrious instances that can be given. And, among 
our own countrymen, Temple, Addison, and Burke, 
•afford examples of the same species of excellence. 



CHAP. 



[ 17-^ ] 
CHAR XX. 

OF THE jS^EBVOUS AXD TPIE FEEBLE STYLE. 

TT is generally imagined that the terras nervous and 
feeble, when applied to style, are synonymous 
with concise and diffuse. This however is not the 
cftse. It is indeed true that diff'use writers have, for 
the most part, some degree of feebleness, and that 
iievvous writers will generally incline to conciseness of 
expression ; but this is by no means an universal rule. 
There are instances of writers who, in the midst of a 
full and copious style, have maintained a great degree 
of strength. And on the other hand, an author may 
he parsimonious of his words, without attaining to any 
remarkable vigour of diction. 

The foundations of a nervous or a weak style are 
laid in an author's manner of thinking. If his con- 
ceptions are strong, his expressions Avill be energetic. 
But if he have only an indistinct view of his subject ;, 
if his ideas be loose and wavering ; if his genius be 
su ch, or, at the time of his writing, so carelessly exer- 
ted, that he has no firm hold of the conception which 
he would communicate to us, the marks of all this will 
plainly appear in his style. Several unmeaning words 
an d loose epithets will be found ; his expressions will 
be vague an 1 general ; his arrangement indistinct and 
feeble. We shall be able to conceive somewhat of his 
meaning, but our conceptions will be faint. Whereas 
a ne; vous wi iter, whether he employ an ext<5nded or a 
concise sty ic, gives us always a strong impression of 
1 his 



NERVOUS AND FEEBLE STYLE, l/o 

fiis meaning: his mind is full of his subject, and his 
words are all expressive ; every phrase and every 
figure which he uses, tend to render the pleasure 
which he would set before us, more lively and complete. 

Every author, in every composition, ought to study 
to express himself with some degree of strength. In 
proportion as he approaches the feeble, he becomes a 
bad writer. In all kinds of writing, however, tlie 
same degree of strength is not required. But the 
more grave and weighty any composition is, the more 
should this quality predominate in the style. History, 
philosophy, and some species of oratory require it in 
an eminent degree ; while in romances, epistles, and 
essays of a lighter cast, it is not so absolutely requisite. 

Too great a study of strength, to the neglect of other 
desirable qualities of style, is apt to betray writers into 
a harshness of manner. Harshness arises from the use 
of un-authorized words, from forced inversions in the 
construction of sentences, and from the neglect of 
smoothness or harmony. This is reckoned the general 
fault of some of the earliest of our English classics; 
such as Bacon, Raleigh, Hooker, Milton, and other 
writers of those days. The style of these writers is, 
for the most part, nervous and energetic in an eminent 
degree: but the language in their hands was very 
different from what it is at present. They were too 
fond of Latin idioms : in the structure of their sentences, 
inversion is often carried to an unwarrantable length. 
Of that kind of style which is here alluded to, it will 
be proper to produce a few examples. 

Though for no other cause, yet for this, that posterity may know 
we have not loosely, through silence, permitted things to pas^ away 



176 THE KERVOUS AND' 

«3 in a dream, there shall be for men's information, extant this muA 
concerning the present state af the church of God established 
amongst us, and their careful endeavours which would have upheld 
.the same. — Hooker s Ecclesiastical Polity. 

We see scholars many, more than others ordinarily, subject to 
melanciioly, because tlieir retired courses of life, and privacy of 
study is a great means to ^(:ed that humour where it is naturally 
found ; yet. neither followeth it therefore, that all scholars- live 
uncomfortable lives, because some do so, that are possessed and 
oppressed with that humour; nor may that rightly be ascribed to 
study and leaj-ning, which not it, but the constitution of some 
students, produceth. — Gatakerh Joi/ of the Just, 

With regard to the transposition of words and mem- 
bers out of their natural order, critics have entered into 
much discussion. It is agreed on all hands, that such 
transposition or inversion bestows upon a period a 
very sensible degree of force and elevation: and yet 
waiters seem to be at a loss in w^hat manner to account 
for this effect. Whether, upon the- whole, we have 
gained or lost by departing from this mode of arrange- 
ment, has by some been doubted. It appears to me 
that the genius of the English language does not natu- 
rally admit of much inversion. But, however this 
may be, such violent instances of transposition as occur 
in the passages lately quoted, are altogether obsolete j 
and no modern writer could adopt them without the 
eensure of harshness and affectation. 

Among those who first laid aside the frequent in- 
versions which prevailed among writers of the former 
age, we may reckon Cowley and Clarendon. The 
■writings of Temple also contributed much to advance 
the language to its present state : but to those of Dry- 
^en it is chiefly indebted for its smoothness and elegance. 

Dryden 



th£ feeble style. 177 

Dryden began to write about the time of the Resto- 
ration, and continued long in his literary career. He 
brought to the study of his native tongue, a vigorous 
mind fraught with various knowledge. There is a 
richness in his diction, a copiousness, ease, and variety 
in his expression, which have never been surpassed by 
any of those who have come after him. His clauses 
are never balanced, nor his periods modeled ; every 
word seems to drop by chance, though it falls into i^s 
proper place. Nothing is cold, or languid ; the whoi-e 
is air}^ animated, and vigorous ; what is little, is gay ; 
w^hat is great, is splendid. Though all is easy, nothing 
is feeble; though all seems careless, there is nothing 
harsh ; and though, since the publication of his works^, 
more than a century has elapsed, yet they have no- 
thing uncouth or obsolete.* 

Some are of opinion that it is elegance rather than 
strength, which forms the chief characteristic of modern 
English authors. They maintain that, since the close 
of the last century, few specimens have been exhibited 
of energetic composition, and that purity and elegance 
have been studied, to the neglect of strength and 
vigour. This charge seems to be unsupported by fkcts. 
What writer ever expressed himself with greater energy 
than Johnson ? Or who ever discovered any want of 
this quality in the compositions of Hawkesworth, 
Robertson, and Stuart ? From the catalogue of living- 
authors, several great names might also be selected. 

Vigour is sometimes confounded with harshness: it 
is imagined that a writer cannot be energetic, without 

* Johnson's Life of Dry den. 

being 



178 THE NERVOUS ANp 

being rugged. *' They would not have it run without 
rubs, as if that style Were more strong and manly, that 
struck the ear with a kind of unevenness."^ 

Those v>^ho complain that, with regard to energy of 
expression, no writer of the present age can be com- 
pared with Bacon and Raleigh, ought to impute this 
circumstance to another cause than the study of purity 
and ffjegance. If the foundations of a nervous or weak 
style be laid in the author's manner of thinking, the 
matter may readily be explained. Bacon and Raleigh 
possessed greater genius than those who are brought 
into competition with them. 

I shall now endeavour to select «ome instances of 
the vigorous style ; though the general character of a 
writer cannot be collected from detached passages. 

. About this time Warburton began to make his appearance in the 
£rst ranks of learning. He was a man of vigorous faculties, a mind 
fervid and vehement, supplied by incessant and unlimited enquiry, 
with wonderful extent and variety of knowledge, which yet had not 
oppressed his imagination, nor clouded his perspicacity. To every 
work he brought a memory full fraught, together with a fancy 
fertile of original combinations, and at onc€ exerted the powers of 
the scholar, the reasoner, and the wit, But his knowledge was too 
multifarious to be always exact, and his pursuits too eager to be 
always cautious. His abilities gave him an haughty confidence, 
which he disdained to conceal or mollify ; and his impatience of 
opposition disposed bira to treat his adversaries with such con- 
temptuous superiority as made his readers commonly his enemies, 
and excited against the advocate the wishes of some who favoured 
the cause. He seems to have adopted the Koman emperor's de- 
termination, oderint dura metuant; he used no allurements of 
gentle language, but wished to compel rather than persuade. His 

* Jonson's Discoveries 

style 



THE FEEBLE STYLE. 179 

style is copious without selection, and forcible without neatness; he 
took the words that presented themselves ; his diction is coarse 
and impure, and his sentences are unmeasured. — Johnson's Life 
of Pope. 

From the writings of this author a more admirable spe- 
cimen might be selected ; but I have chosen this, on 
account of its reference to our present subject. 

Christianity was more calculated, than the superstitions of paga- 
nism, to impress the imagination and the heart. The rite of bap- 
tism taught the follower of Odin to transfer his worship to Christ. 
To defend Christianity with his sword and his life, became a sacred 
vow," to which every knight was ambitious to submit. He con- 
sidered himself as a saint, as well as a hero; and on the foundation 
of his piety, the successors of St. Peter were to precipitate the 
armies of Europe upon Asia, and to commence the crusades, those 
memorable monuments of superstition and heroism. The lady, 
not less than the knight, was to feel the influence of this religion. 
Society was to be disturbed with the sublime extravagance of 
fanatics, who were to court perfections out of the order of nature. 
Mortifications, austerities, and penances, were to be meritorious in 
proportion to their duration and cruelty. The powers and affections 
of the mind and the heart were to sicken and to languish in frivolous 
and fatiguing ceremonials. The eye of beauty was to sadden in 
monasteries and in solitude, or to light the unholy fires of a rampant 
priesthood. The deity was to be worshipped in abjectness and in 
terror, as if he contemned the works he had made, and took delight 
in human dejection and wretchedness. — Stuart's Viezn (f Sooieti/, 

It is with justice that Mr. Hayley distinguishes Dr. 
Stuart as an author possessed of ** all the energy of 
genius.*' His style, thougb certainly deficient in fluency, 
is bold and vigorous ; and upon some occasions he even 
rises to uncommon eloquence. The English language 
can boast of few such finished works as his admirable 
Fzej^ of SocietTj in Europe. The subject is interesting 
i5 and 



180 THE NERVOUS AND 

and important ; and he has apph'ed himself to the 
investigatioD of it with great assiduity and research. 

Wherever they marched, their rout was marked with blood. 
They ravaged or destroyed all around them. They made no 
distinction between what was sacred and what was profane. 
They respected no age, or sex,^ or rank. What escaped the fury of 
the first inundation, perished in those which followed it. The most 
fertile and populous provinces were converted into deserts, in which 
were scattered the ruins of villages and cities, that afforded shelter 
to a few miserable inhabitants whom chance had preserved, or the 
sword of the enemy, wearied with destroying, had spared. The 
conquerors who first settled in the countries which they liad wasted, 
were expelled or exterminated by new invaders, who, coming from 
regions farther removed from the civilized parts of the world, \\eje^~ 
still more fierce and rapacious. This brought new calamities upon 
mankind, which did not cease until the north, by poiuring forth 
successive swarms, was drained of people, and could rio longe? 
*farnish instruments of destruction. Famine and pestilence, which 
always march in the train of war, when it ravages with such incon- 
siderate cruelty, raged in every part of Europe, and completed its 
sufferings. — Robertson's View of Society, 

The stj'le of Dr. Robertson is at once pohshed and 
energetic. It seems to approach the very borders of 
perfection. The objections which have been urged 
against it by a popular writer, it may here be proper 
to consider. *' The historian of Charles the fifth/' it 
is remarked, ^* possesses so many excellencies, that it 
is almost sacrilegious to detract from his merit. But 
no writer is perfect ; and I doubt not, from the opinion 
I entertain of- his taste and candour,, that he v/iJl con- 
fess, when the ardour of composition is abated,, that his 
style has deviated from the historical to the decla- 
matory. He relates the councils as well as the wars 
wf nations with all the vehemence of a Demosthenes, 

and 



THE FEEBLE STYLE. 181 

and the rapid eloquence of a Ciceronian Philippic. 
The style is glowing and animated in a high degree ; 
but does natmre dictate, that a long and diffuse disser- 
tation on such subjects as the feudal state, or on others 
equally dispassionate in themselves, should be treated 
in a style which would become an orator in the act of 
rousing his sluggish countrymen to repel an invader ? 
I will not enter into an enquiry, whether such long 
dissertations legitimately belong to history or to ano- 
ther species of composition. I believe they might 
more properly be classed under the name of political 
dissertations. They find no place in the purer models 
of antiquity ; and the reader has certainly a right to 
complain that they occupy a disproportionate part of 
a work, and appear in the place of facts, on which he 
might make his own reflections. But the fire and vis 
vivida^ or the life and spirit which i» diffused over this 
respectable writer's page, induces us to forget a while 
the rules prescribed by the frigidity of criticism,- 
What though he seems to have made Demosthenes his 
model, instead of Livy or Herodotus, yet surely, w hat 
bears any resemblance to the spirit of that noble Athe-- 
man, cannot fail to delight and improve." 

These observations seem to be dictated by the spirit 
of cold and systematic criticism. Why is the historian 
to be debarred from relating the councils of nations 
with a vehement and rapid eloquence ? The councils 
of nations may be more interesting than their wars, and= 
ought therefore to be related in an interesting, manner. 
It is upon their issue that war or peace depends ; and 
they tend to exhibit the characteristic features not only 
ef distinguished personages, but of a w'hole people. 

It 



182 THE NERVOUS AND 

It is asked if nature dictates that a long and diffuse dis- 
sertation on such subjects as the feudal state, or on 
others equally dispassionate in themselves, should be 
treated in a style which would become an orator in the 
act of rousing his sluggish countrymen to repel an 
invader ? This question may be answered in the nega- 
tive. And it will be difficult to prove that, in the 
dissertation alluded to, the style of Robertson corre- 
sponds to the above description. It is neither too lofty 
nor too mean. The feudal. state cannot with propriety 
be termed a dispassionate subject : it presents the 
human mind in a great variety of singular and inte- 
resting aspects, and affords an eloquent writer many 
opportunities of exerting his powers. Whether such 
dissertations find a place among the models of antiquity, 
is of little importance in the determination of the pre- 
sent question. That they have only been attempted 
by the moderns, is a circumstance which tends to shev? 
the progressive improvement of every thing connected 
with the intellectual faculties of man. It is absurd to 
propose the ancient historians as permanent models i 
in many respects they are greatly excelled by the 
moderns, The modern historian exhibits a more 
complete and masterly view of ** the progress of the 
human mind, the gradual improvement of reason, the 
successive advances of science, the vicissitudes of 
learning and ignorance, which are the light and dark- 
ness of thinking beings, the extinction and resuscitatioii* 
of arts, and the revolutions of the intellectual world/'* 

That 

* As an opportunity has thus presented itself, I shall take the 
liberty of mentioning some authors who have either treated of the 



THE FEEBLE STYLE. 183^ 

That beautiful dissertation which appeared so tedious 
to the learned writer, will by most readers be perused 
with a lively interest ; and it is surprising that any 
critic should regard it with coldness. Enquiries into 
the nature and progress of society are certainly much, 
more important than narrations of battles and sieges^, 
negotiations and intrigues. The disquisitions of Fer- 
guson, Robertson, and Stuart,, may be classed wit^ 
the most masterly productions in the English language. 
In Dr. Ferguson's work, even Mr. Gray acknowledged 
*' uncommon strains of eloquence."f 

The style of Mr. Gibbon has sometimes been pre- 
ferred to that of Dr. Robertson ; but this is certainly 
an honour to which it is not justly entitled. It evinces 
less correctness, less compression, and less of the ge- 
nuine Attic taste. It abounds with affected circumlo- 
cutions, and with epithets which have the appearance 
of being introduced for the sake of the sound rather 
than of the sense. Yet, with all this want of chastness^ 



study of history, or of the manner in which it should be written. 
Remarks upon this subject occur in the writings of Bionysius, 
Lucian, and Diodorus. Vossius, Hubertus Folieta, Riccoboni, 
Patrici, and Mascardi, have professedly treated of the historical art. 
The reader may also consult St. Real De I'Ussge de VHistoiref 
Condillac De VEtud§ de VHistoirej Argenson's Reflexions sur les 
Historiens Francois inserted in Choia^ des- Memoires de V Academic 
Royahy tome iii, Hayle3''s Easay on History y Bolingbroke's Letters on 
the Study of History^ and Ferriar's Menippean Essay on English 
Historians. Each of these authors cannot be recommended as 
highly excellent; but each of them may be perused with some 
advantage. 
t Masou's Memoirs of Gray, sect, iv. 

it 



184 IS'ERVGUS AND FEEBLE STYLE. 

it displays so many of the flowers of a classical fancy,- 
that it is very far from being entitled to the contempt 
which it has sometimes experienced. 

If it be necessary to produce any instance of the fee-- 
ble style, the following may, I think, be selected witb 
sufficient propriety. 

To read such vast numbers as he did, he latteriy made use of »■ 
method as extraordinary as any thing I have hitherto mentioned of 
him. When a book first came into his hands, he would look the title-' 
page all over, then dip here and there in the preface, dedication, and 
advertisements, if there were any; and then cast his eyes on each of the 
divisions, the different sections, or chapters, and then he would be able 
for ever ta know what that book contained: for he remembered as 
steadily, as he conceived rapidly. — It was after he had taken to this^- 
way of fore-short e7iing his reading, if I may be allowed so odd an 
expression; and 1 think I rather may, because he concei-ved the 
matter almost as completely in this short way, as if he had read it 
at full length; that a priest, who had composed a panygeric on one 
ef his favourite saints, brought it to Magliabechi, as a present. He 
had read it over the way above mentioned; only the title-page, and 
the heads of the chapters; and then thanked him very kindly for 
his excellent treatise. The author, in some pain, asked him, 
*' Whether that was all he intended to read of his book? Maglia*- 
bechi coolly answered, "Yes; fori know vecy well every thing that 
is in it." My. author for this anecdote endeavoured to account for 
it in the following manner : Maghabechi, says he, knew all that the 
zcriters before had said of this saint; he knew this particular father's- 
turn and character; and from thence judged, what he would chuse 
out of them, and,what he would omit. — Spencers Life of MagliabechL 

This passage seems to exhibit every possible fanlt. 
The sentences are constructed in a very unskilful- 
manner ; the circumstances are often improperly pla- 
ced ; and the members loose and disjointed. Nothings 
is expressed with energy ; all is feeble and ungraceful. 
The tommencemeiit of the second; paragraph presents 

so 



THE VEHEMENT STYLE. 185 

violent a separation of correspondent words, that the 
period is involved in a considerable degree of obscu- 
rity. Nor is the author's phraseology less excep- 
tionable : it is altogether low and vulgar, as the ex- 
pressions in Italics will sufficiently testify. 



CHAP. XXL 

OF THE VEHEMENT ,STYLE. 

t 

npHE vehement rises a degree above the nervous 
styJe. The former, however, always includes the 
latter : for in order to attain to any vehemence of 
diction, an author must necessarily be possessed of 
strengths 

The vehement style is distinguished by a peculiar 
ardour of expression ; it is the language of a maa 
whose imagination and passions are strongly affected 
by the subject which he contemplates; and who is 
therefore negligent of lesser graces, but pours forth his 
eloquence with the fulness and rapidity of a torrent. 
It belongs to the higher species of oratory ; and indeed 
is rather expected from a man who declaims in a pa- 
pular assembly, than from one who writes in the retire- 
ment of his closet. Of this style, the most striking ex- 
amples in our language have been exhibited by Burke 
and Bolingbroke. 

Mr. Burke was a man of the most splendid talents^ 
and those talents had been improved by due cultiva- 
tion. His imagination was fervent and brilliant ; but 

his 



ISG- THE VEHEMENT STYLE. 

his judgment was less vigorous than his imagination* 
111 modern, and indeed in ancient times, the copious- 
ness and force of his eloquence have not often been 
paralleled : it roils along like a rapid and impetuous 
torrent, and bears down every object that rises in op- 
position. His illustrations are variegated and striking ; 
he is even profuse of poetical conceptions and poetical 
imagery. His metaphors, however, are not unfre- 
quentiy coarse, and his language is deficient in purity 
and selection. When he has begun to descant on a 
subject which interests his morbid feelings, he knows 
not when to pass to another. Upon the whole, it may 
perhaps be affirmed with safety, that his various pro- 
ductions are more calculated to excite the astonishment 
or indignation of his cotemporaries, than to secure the 
applause or imitation of posterity. 

Lord Bolingbroke was fitted by nature to be the 
demagogue of a popular assembly. The style which 
runs through all his political writings, is that of k 
person declaiming with heat, rather than writing with 
deliberation. He abounds with rhetorical figures ; and 
pours himself forth with great impetuosity. He is co- 
pious to a fault; places the same thought before us in 
many different views ; but generally with vivacity or 
ardour. He is bold rather than correct. His eloquencie 
is a torrent that flows strong, but often muddy. His 
merit as a writer would have been considerable, if his 
matter had equalled his style. But while we find much 
to commend in the latter, the former is entitled to no 
kind of praise. In his reasonings he is for the most 
part flimsy and false 5 in his political writings factious ; 

and 



THE VEHEMENT STYLE. 1S7 

and in what he calls his philosophical ones, irreligious 
and sophistical in the highest degree.* 

In treating of the vehement st3'le, I have not, as 
upon former occasions, attempted to select examples. 
The subject cannot in the present instance be eluci- 
dated in this manner : vehemence of style can only be 
perceived and relished by attending to a pretty long 
series of reasonings and illustrations. 



* Lord Chesterfield having mentioned Bolingbroke's Idea of a 
Patriot King, proceeds in the following manner : " 1 desire that 
\iju will read it over and over again, with particular attention to the 
st)'ie and to all those beauties of oratory wirh which it is adorned. 
Till I read that book, I confess I did not know all the extent and 
powers of the English language. Lord Bolingbroke has both a 
tongue and a pen to persuade; his manner of speaking in private 
conversation, is full as elegant as his writings; whatever subject he 
either writes or speaks upon, he adorns witii the most splendid elo- 
quence; not a studied or laboured eloquence, but such a flowing 
happiness of diction, which (from care perhaps at first) is become 
so habitual to him, that even his most familiar conversations, if taken 
down in writing, would bear the press, without the least correction 
either as to method or style. If his conduct in the former part of 
his life, had been equal to his natural and acquired talents, he would 
most justly have merited the epithet of all-accomplished, ">-Z(e^^€?3 
to his Son, kit, clxxv*- 



CUAPi 



r 188 ] .:l^!- 

CHAP. XXIL 

©F THE PLAIN STYLE. 

A PLAIN style is one that rejects all ambitious or- 
naments. The writer who adopts this manner, 
may perhaps endeavour to display his meaning with 
perspicuity and precision : qualities of style which it 
must be confessed, are of the highest order. His-com- 
position may also be possessed of force and vivacity. 
But he will shew an indifference for what is merety or- 
namental. He does not strive to captivate the fancy 
or the ear by employing rhetorical figures, or musical 
arrangement. Yet it is not necessary that he disgust 
his reader by a dryness or harshness of manner. A 
plain style is consistent with smoothness of arrange- 
ment, and a temperate use of metaphor; though nei- 
ther of these is absolutely requisite. 

In discussions of a philosophical nature, the plain 
style ought to predominate. And accordingly many 
of the English philosophers have employed it with 
propriety* Even in works which admit, or require much 
ornament, there are parts where the plain manner 
should be adopted. But it must be remembered, that 
when this is the character w^hich a w^riter affects 
throughout his whole composition, great w^eight of 
matter, and great force of sentiment, are required to 
secure the reader's attention. Unless he happen to 
treat of mathematical subjects, an author ought always 
to beware of falling into a dryness of manner. This- 

excludes 



THE PLAIN STYLE. 189 

excludes ornaments of every description. Content 
with being understood, it has not the least aim to 
please either the fancy or the ear. Aristotle furnishes 
the most complete example of a dry style. Never 
perhaps was there an author who adhered so rigidly to 
the strictness of a didactic manner throughout all his 
writirigs, and conveyed so much instruction without 
the least approach to ornament. With the most pro- 
found genius, and the most extensive views, he writes 
like a pure intelligence, who addresses himself solely 
to the understanding, ivithout making any use of the 
channel of the imagination. But this is a manner 
which deserves not to be imitated. For although the 
i-alue of the matter may compeasate for the dryness- or 
harshness of the style, yet is that dryness- a consider- 
able defect: it fatigues the attention, and conveys 
our sentiments with disadvantage to the reader or 
hearer. 

It would appear, however,^ that Aristotle wrote in 
this manner from choice rather than necessity. Had 
he preferred a more ornamental style, he could un- 
doubtedly have attained it. It is even the opinion of 
some learned men, that, if we may judge from the spe- 
cimen which still remains,* he was fitted by nature to 
excel in the higher species of poetry. Scaliger regards 
his Hymn to Virtue as not inferior to the compositions 
of Pindar.t 

Dr. Swift may be placed at the head of those wha 



* Apud Athenaeum, lib. xv. cap. xvi. Stobaeum, prope init, et 
♦piogenem Laertium in Vita Aristotelis. 
t Scaligeri Poetice, lib. i. cap. xliv, 

hav& 



190 THE PLAIN STYLE. 

have employed the plain style. Few "writers liave dis*- 
covered greater talents,. He always shows himself 
completely master of the subject. of which he treats. 
Few were better acquainted with the extent, the puri- 
t}'-, the precision of the English language : and there- 
fore, to those who are ambitious of attaining a pure 
and correct style, he is one of the most useful models. 
But we must not look for much ornament or grace in 
his language. His haughty agd morose genius made 
him despise any embeUishment of that kind as beneath 
his dignity. He delivers his sentiments in a plain, po- 
sitive manner, like one who is sure he is always right, 
and is very indifferent Avhether his reader be pleased or 
not. His sentences are often negligently arranged : 
the sense is sufficiently obvious ; but little regard is 
paid to compactness or elegance. If a metaphor, or 
any other figure, chanced to render his satire more 
poignant, he would perhaps condescend to adopt it, 
when it presented itself ; bat if it tended only to em- 
bellish or illustrate, he would rather- throw it aside. 
Hence in his serious wTitings, his style often borders 
upon the dry and unpleasing. But in his humorous 
pieces, the plainness of his manner displays his wit to 
the greatest advantage. 

Dr. Johnson has commented on the style and manner 
of Swift with his usual powers of discrimination. " In 
his works,'* says he, " he has given very different spe- 
cimens both of sentiments and expression. His * Tale 
of a Tub* has little resemblance to his other pieces. It 
exhibits a vehemence and rapidity of mind, a copious- 
ness of images, and vivacity of diction, such as he af- 
terwards never possessed, or never exerted. It is of a? 

mode 



THE PLAIN STYLE/ IC)1 

mode so distinct and peculiar, that it must be consi- 
dered by itself ; what is true of that, is not true of any 
thing else which he has written. 

*' In his other works is found an equable tenour of 
easy language, which rather trickles than flows. His 
delight was in simplicity. That he has in his works 
no metaphor, as has been said, is not true ; but his few 
metaphors seem to be received rather by necessity than 
choice. He studied pwrity; and though perhaps all 
his strictures are not exact, yet it is not often that so- 
lecisms can be found; and whoever depends on his au- 
thority may generally conclude himself safe. His sen- 
tences are never too much dilated or contracted ; and it 
■will not be easy to find any embarrassment in the com- 
plication of his clauses, any inconsequence in his 
connections, or abruptness in his transitions. 

'* His style was well suited to his thoughts, w^hich are 
never subtilized by nice disquisitions, decorated by 
sparkling conceits, elevated by ambitious sentences, or 
variegated by far-sought learning. He pays no court 
to the passions; he excites neither surprise nor admi- 
ration ; he always understands himself; and his readers 
always understand him : the peruser of Swift wants lit- 
tle previous knowledge ; itwnll be sufficient that he is 
acquainted with common words and common things; 
he is neither required to mount elevations, nor to explore 
profundities; his passage is alwaj-s on a level, along 
solid ground, without asperities, without obstruction. 

'' This easy and safe conveyance of meaning it was 
Swift's desire to attain, and for having attained it he 
deserves praise, though perhaps not the highest praise, 
for purposes merely didactic, when something is to 

be 



193 THE PLAIN STYLE, 

be told that was not kiiowD before, it is the best mode ; 
but against that inattention by which known truths are 
suffered to lie neglected^ it makes no provision; it in- 
structs, but does not persuade/'* 

It will now be proper to select a passage characteris- 
tic of that species of style of which we have been treat- 
ing. And for this purpose, we shall have recourse to 
the wr it-i n gs of Swift. 

I suppose it will be granted that hardly one in a hundred among 
ojir people of quality, or gentry, appears to act by any principle of 
religion. That great numbers of them do entirely discard it, and 
are ready to own their disbelief of all revelation in ordinary discourse. 
Nor is the case much better among the vulgar, especially in great 
towns; where the profaneness and ignorance of handicraftsmen, 
small traders, servants, and the like, are to a degree very hard to be 
imagined greater. Then it is observed abroad, that no race of 
mortals hath so little sense -of religion as the English soldiers : to 
confirm which, I liave been often told by great officers in the army 
that in the whole compass of their acquaintance, they could not re- 
collect three of their profession, who seemed to regard, or believe 
one syllahle of the Gospel: and the same, at least, may be affirm- 
ed of 4:he jfleet. The consequences of all which, upon the actions 
of men, are equally manifest. They never go about, as in former 
times, to hide or palliate their vices; but expose them freely to 
view, like any other common occurrences of life, without the least 
rjeproach from the world, or themselves. For instance, any man 
will tell you, he intends to be drunk this €vening, or was so last 
night, with as little ceremony or scruple, an he would tell you the 
time of the day. He will let you know tbat he is going to a wench, 
with as much indifference as he would a piece of public news. He 
will swear, curse, or blaspheme, without tl>e least passion or provo- 
cation. And, although all regard for reputation be not quite laid 
aside in the other sex : it is, however, at so low an ebb, that very 



* Jolmson's Life of Swift. 

few 



THE NEAT STYLE. 193 

few among them seem to think virtue and conduct of any necessity 
for preserving it. If this be not so, how comes it to pass, that wo- 
men of tainted reputations find the samecountenance and reception 
in all public places, with those of the nicest virtue, who pay, and 
receive visits from them, without any manner of scruple ? Which 
proceeding, as it is not very old among us, so T take it to be of most 
pernicious consequence. It looks like a sort of compounding be- 
tween Virtue and Vice ; as if a woman were allowed to be vicious, 
provided she be not profligate ; as if tliere was a certain point where 
gallantry ends, and infamy begins; or that an hundred criminal 
amours were not as pardonable as half a score. — Szc'ift on the Ad' 
^^ancemcnt of Religion. 



CHAR xxiir. 

OF THE NEAT STYLE. 



"VTEATNESS of style implies a certain degree of 
ornament. Its ornaments, however, are not of 
the most showy or brilliant kind : they are such as are 
easily attained. A writer who employs this kind of 
style, considers the beauties of language as an object 
worthy of attention. He is careful in the choice of his 
words, and endeavours to arrange them with propriety 
and elegance ; but he seldom attempts any bold flight 
of eloquence. His sentences are free from the incum.- 
brances of superfluous words ; they are of a moderate 
length, and rather inclining to brevity than to a swell- 
ing structure; they generally close with propriety, 
and are unincumbered with long tails. His cadence is 
varied, but not of the studied musical kind. Such 

figures 



1C^4 THE NEAT STLYLE. 

figures as lie employs, are short and correct, rather 
than bold or glowing. 

This style may perhaps be adopted by an author 
of superior genius ; but it is not unattainable by one 
of no uncommon capacity. Any writer of ordinary 
attainments may acquire it, by carefully attending to 
the laws of rhetoric, and to the practice of writers of 
established reputation. It is a mode of writing that 
never becomes disagreeable. It imprints a character 
of moderate elevation on our composition, and displays 
a decent degree of ornament, which is not incompatible 
with any subject whatever. A familiar letter, or a law- 
paper, may be written with neatness ; and a sermon, or 
philosophical treatise, in a neat style, will be read with 
pleasure. 

The writings of Middleton, Berkeley, Blackstone, 
and Smith, appear to me to exhibit models of this 
species of style. From the last of these authors I shall 
lendeavour to select an apposite passage. 

We sympathise even with the dead, and overlooking what is of 
real importance in their situation, that awful futurity wliich awaits 
them, we are chiefly affected by those circurnstances whicli strike 
our senses, but can have no influence upon their happiness. It is 
miserable, we think, to be deprived of the light of the sun j to be 
sliut out from life and conversation ; to be laid in the cold grave a 
prey to corruption and the reptiles of the earth ; to be no more 
thought of in this world, but to be obliterated in a little time from 
the affections and almost from the memory of their dearest friends 
and relations. Surely, we imagine, we can never feel too much 
for those who have suffered so dreadful' a calamity. The tribute of 
our fellow feelings seems doubly due to them now when they are in 
danger of being forgot by every body : and, by the vain honours 
which we pay to their memory, we endeavour, for our own misery, 
artificially toieep alive our melancholy remembrance of their niis- 

fortune^ 



THE GRACEFUL STYLfi, 1^5 

ft>rtune. That our sympathy can afford them no consolation, seems 
to be an addition to their calamity; and to think that all we can do 
is unavailiug, and that, what alleviates all other distress, the regret, 
the love, and the lamentations of their friends, can yield no comfort 
to them, serves only to exasperate the sense of their misery. The 
happiness of the dead, however, most assuredly is affected by none 
of these circumstances; nor is it the thought of these things which 
can ever disturb the profound security of their repose. Tha idea of 
that dreary and endless melancholy which the fancy naturally 
ascribes to their condition, arises altogether from our joining to the 
change which has been produced upon them, our own consciousness 
of that change, from our putting ourselves in their situation, and 
from our lodging, if I may be allowed to say so, our own living souls 
in tlieir inanimated bodies, and thence conceiving what vi'ould be 
our emotions in this case. It is from this very illusion of the ima- 
ginatiop, that the foresight of our own dissolution is so terrible to us, 
and that the idea of those circumstances, which undoubtedly can 
give us no pain when we are dead, makes us miaerabie while we are 
niive. -^Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. 



CHAP. XXIV. 

OF THE GRACEFUL STYLE, 

^NOTWITHSTANDING the powerful effect which 
graceful composition produces upon the mind, it 
is difficult to reduce it to a definitioo. Where language, 
does not supply us with proper words to express the 
ideas of the mind, we can only convey our sentiments 
in figurative terms ; a defect which necessarily intro- 
duces some obscurity. 

Grace in writing may be compared to that easy air 

which 60 remarkably distinguishes persons of a genteel 

K and 



19^ THE GRACEFUL STYLE. 

and liberal cast. It consists not only in the particular 
beauty of single parts, but in the general symmetry 
and construction of the whole. An author may be just 
in his sentiments, lively in his figures, and clear in his 
expression ; yet at the same time may be wholly a 
stranger to graceful composition. The several mem- 
bers of a discourse must be so agreeably united as mu- 
tually to reflect beauty upon each other; their arrange- 
ment must be so happily disposed as not to admit of 
the least interposition without manifest prejudice to the 
entire piece. The thoughts, the metaphors, the allu- 
sions, and the diction, should appear easy and natural, 
and seem to arise like so many spontaneous produc- 
tions, rather than as the effects of art or labour. 

Whatever, therefore, is forced or affected in the sen- 
timents, whatever pompous or pedantic in the expres- 
sion, is the very reverse of grace. Her mien is neither 
that of a prude, nor that of a coquette : she is regular 
without formality, and sprightly without being fantas- 
tical. Grace is to good writing, what a proper light is 
to a fine picture; it not only shows all the figures in 
their several proportions and relations, but shews them 
in the most advantageous manner. 

As gentility appears in the most minute actions, and 
improves the most inconsiderable gesture, so grace is 
discovered in the placing even of a single word, or in 
the turn of a mere expletive. Nor is this inexpressible 
quality confined to one species of composition : it ex- 
tends from the humble pastoral to the lofty epic ; from 
tlie slightest letter to the most solemn discourse. 

It is supposed that Sir William Temple was the first 

writer who introduced a graceful manner into English 

1 prose. 



THE GRACEFUL STYLE. 19? 

prose.* I am rather inclined to think that this honour 
is due to Cowley. The general merit of this authors 
essays has been acknowledged by Johnson f and Gold- 
smith; J but they have never been referred to as in- 
stances of graceful composition. Tliey however seem 
entitled to this mark of distinction. His sentiments are 
natural, and his diction simple and unaffected. 'No- 
thing appears far-fetched, or artificially constructed ; 
and our ears are seldom or never assailed with pompous 
and pedantic expressions. 

But wherever we may look for the origin of this 
quality, it is certainly to be found in its highest perfec- 
tion in the compositions of Mr, Addison, an author 
whose writings will be distinguished as long as polite- 
ness and good sense find any admirers. That becoming 
air which Cicero esteems the criterion of fine wTiting, 
and which every reader, he says, imagines so easy to 
be imitated, yet Avill find so difficult to attain, is the 
prevailing characteristic of all this excellent author's 
performances. We may justly apply to him what 
Plato, in his allegorical language, says of Aristophanes : 
the Graces, having searched all the world round for a 
temple in which they might for ever dwell, settled at 
Jast in the breast of Addison. 

His style is thus characterised by Dr. Johnson. ^^ His 
prose is the model of the middle style j on grave sub- 
jects not formal, on light occasions not groveling ; pure 
without scrupulosity, and exact without elaboration ^ 

* Melmoth's Letters of Fitzosborne, lett. xxix. 

f Johnson's Life of Cowley. 

I Goldsmith's Essays, vol. iii. essay xx, 

always 



198 THE GRACEFUL STYLE. 

always equable, and always easy, without glowing 
words or pointed sentences. Addison never deviates 
from his track to snatch a grace ; he seeks no ambi- 
tious ornaments, and tries no hazardous innovations. 
His page is always luminous, but never blazes in unex- 
pected splendour. 

'^ It was apparently his principal endeavour to avoid 
all harshness and severity of diction : he is therefore 
sometimes verbose in his transitions and connections, 
and sometimes descends too much to the language of 
conversation ; yet if his language had been less idio- 
n^atical, it might have lost somewhat of its genuine An- 
glicism. What he attempted, he performed: he is 
never rapid, and he never stagnates. His sentences 
have neither studied amplitude, nor affected brevity : 
his periods, though not diligently rounded, are voluble 
and easy."* 

Dry den. Pope, and Atterbury, are reckoned among 
the number of graceful writers ; and to these we may 
likewise add the names of Melmoth and Hume. 

As a polite writer, Mr. Hume perhaps appears to the 
gre^Ltest advantage in some of his essays. f His style 



* Johnson's Life of Addison. 

i Dr. Aikin, speaking of the style of philosophical writings, 
makes the following observations. ** Great precision in the use of 
words, clear arrangement of all the members of a sentence, closeness 
of mctlicd, strength and conciseness of expression, without harshness 
tr obscurity, are essential to perfection in this department of writ- 
ing; and if somewhat of the grace and amenity of language be 
arUIed, which is not incompatible with the other requisites, the effect 
of conviction may be promoted, by leading on the reader pleasantly 
lluou^h a topic perhaps naturally dry and unalluring, I conceive 

Cicero 



THE GRACEFUL STYLE* 199 

is often possessed of uncommon grace and suavity. It 
must however be acknowledged that he too frequently 
adopts French idioms ; a fault which was undoubtedly 
owinpf to his lone: residence on the continent. But 
from whatever cause it may have originated, it cer- 
tainly detracts from his merit as a writer. 

The prose compositions of Dr. Beattie are often dis- 
tinguished by a degree of chaste ornament, not unwor- 
thy of the author of The Minstrd ; they are indeed 
distinguished by uncommon grace and elegance. His 
epistolary correspondence, interspersed in the late Sir 
William Forbes's Account of his Life and Writings, 
evinces a peculiar felicity of style. Mr. Cowper, in 
one of his letters, mentions him in terms of the warmest 
commendation. ** I thanked you in my last for John- 
son, I now thank you with more emphasis for Beattie, 
the most agreeable and amiable writer I ever met with ; 
the only author I have seen whose critical and philoso- 
phical researches are diversified and embellished by a 
poetical imagination, that makes even the driest sub- 
ject, and the leanest, a feast for an epicure in books. 
He is so much at his ease too, that his ow^n' character 
appears in every page, and, which is very rare, we see 
not only the wTiter, but the man ; and that man so 
gentle, so well tempered, so happy in his religion, and 
so humane in his philosophy, that it is necessary to 
love him if one has any sense of w^hat is lovely."* 

Cicero and Hume to be examples of this union of every useful and 
agreeable quality in discussions purely philosophical. — Letters to his 
Son, vol. ii. lett. iv. 

• Hay ley's Life of Cowper, vol. ii. p. 192 . 

In 



500 THE GRACEFUL STYLE. 

In the writings of Mr. Harris I own myself unable to 
perceive those Platonic graces for which they have 
been so highly extolled by Dr. Knox.* His style 
seems for the most part to be quite the reverse of 
graceful. His combination of words is often harslt 
and disagreeable ; and on many occasions, he employs 
Greek rather than English idioms. 

In exhibiting an example of the graceful st^-le, f 
shall have recourse to the works of Mr. Melmoth, 

I consider a generous mind as the nolilest work of the creation, 
and, am persuaded, wherever it resides, no real merit can be want- 
ing. It is, perhaps, the most singidar of all the moral endowments: 
lam sure at least, it is often imputed where it cannot justly be 
claimed. The meanest self-love, under some refined disguise, fre- 
quently passes upon common observers for this god-like principle j 
and I have known many a popular action attributed to this motive, 
when it flowed from no higher a source than the suggestions of con- 
cealed vanity. Good-nature, as it hath many features in common 
with this virtue, is usually mistaken for it : the former, however, is 
but the effect, possibly, of a happy disposition of the animal struc- 
turey. or, as Dryden somewhere calls it, of a certain " milkiness of 
blood;" whereas the latter is seated in the mind, and can never sub- 
sist where good sense and enlarged sentiments have no existence. 
It is entirely founded, indeed, upon justness of thought, which, 
perhaps, is the reason this virtue is so little the characteristic of 
mankind in general. A man whose niind is warped by the selfish 
passions, or contracted by the narrow prejudices of sects or parties, 
if he does not want honesty, must undoubtedly want understanding.. 
The same clouds that darken his intellectual views, obstruct his mo- 
ral ones; and his generosity is extremely circumscribed, because 
his reason is exceedingly limited. — True generosity rises above the 
ordinary rules of social conduct, and flows with much too full a 
stream to be comprehended within the precise marks of formal 



* Knox's Essays, No. cxxvi. 

precepts, 



THE FLORID STYLE. 201 

precepts. It is a vigorous principle in the. soul, which opens and 
expands all her virtues far beyond those which are only the forced 
and unnatural productions of a timid obedience. The man who is 
influenced singly by motives' of the latter kind, aims no higher than 
at certain authoritative standards ; without even attempting to reach 
those iilorious elevations, which constitute the only true heroism of 
the social character. Religion, without this sovereign principle, de- 
generates into a slavish fear, and wisdom mto a specious cunning; 
learning is but the avarice of the mind, and wit its more pleasing 
kind of madness. In a word, generosity sanctifies every passion, 
and adds grace to every acquisition of the soul; and if it does not 
necessarily include, at least it reflects a lustre upon the whole 
circle of moral and intellectual qualities. — MdmotKs Letters of 
Fitzosborne. 



GHAP. XXV. 

OF THE FLORID STYLE. 

QUINTILIAN regards it as a favourable presage in 
juvenile writers, that their compositions display a 
redundancy of fancy.* We must however beware of 



* " Audeat haec cetas plura, et inveniat, et inventis gaudeat, sint 
licet ilia non satis interim sicca et severa. Facile remedium est 
ubertatis; sterilia nulio labore vincuntur. Ilia mihi in pueris na- 
tura minimum spei dabit, in qua ingenium judicio praesumitur. 
Materiam esse primum volo vel abundantiorem, atque ultra quam 
oporteat fusam. Multum inde decoquerit anni, raultura ratio lima- 
bit, aliquid velut usu ipso deteretur, sit modo unde excidi possit, et 
quod exsculpi ; erit autem, si non ab initio tenuem nimium laminam 
duxerimus, et quam calatura altior rumpat. Quod me de his seta- 
tibus sentire minus mirabitur, qui apud Ciceronem legerit, Volo 
enim se efferat in adol€scentefacunditas."-^Qvjj!ijJLiA2i. delnstitut. 
Orator, lib, ii. cap. iv, 

mistaking 



S0i2 THE FLORID STYLE. 

jjiistaking pomp of expression for luxuriance of imagi- 
nation. The former is of easy access, but the latter is 
more rarely to be found. It is in the power of every 
one to load his style with high-sounding words and 
phrases ; but to embellish a discourse with the glowing 
colours of fancy, requires the aid of inventive genius. 

A certain degree of chaste ornament can never be 
unseasonable ; though gaudy and meretricious orna- 
ments are always disgusting. The over- florid style, 
therefore, cannot be agreeable to a reader of taste. 
Although it may be allowed to youth in their first 
essays, it must not receive the same indulgence Avhen 
employed by writers of maturer years. We may rea- 
sonably expect, timt judgment, as it ripens, should 
chasten imagination, and reject as juvenile all such 
ornaments as are redundant or unsuitable. Nothing 
can be more contemptible than that tinsel splendour of 
language which some writers perpetually affect. It 
were well if this could be ascribed to the overflowings 
of a rich imagination ; for, in that case, we should at 
least find something to amuse our fancy, if we found 
nothing to instruct our understanding. But it is luxu-. 
riancy of words, not of thought, that is exhibited by 
these frothy writers. We see a laboured attempt to 
rise to a splendour of composition, of which they have 
formed some kind of loose idea. But not possessing 
sufSScient strength of genius to attain the desired object, 
they endeavour to supply the defect by the use of 
poetical words, cold exclamations^ and common-place 
figures. While they are so solicitous about every thing 
which has the appearance of pomp and magnificence, 
it has escaped these writers that sobriety in ornament 



THE FLORID STYLE. 205- 

is one great secret for rendering it pleasing; and that^ 
without a foundation of good sense and solid thought, 
the most florid st3^1e is but a childish imposition on the 
public. The pubUc, however, are but too apt to bo 
imposed on in this manner, I cannot help thinking, 
that it reflects more honour on the religious and bene- 
volent disposition of the present age, than on the re- 
finement of its taste, that the works of Mr. Hervey 
have been so generally admired. The pious and be- 
nevolent heart which is always displayed in them, and^ 
the lively fancy which appears on some occasions, 
justly merit applause: but the perpetual glitter of ex- 
pression, the swoln imagery, and strained description, 
with which they abound, are ornaments of a false 
kind. The following passage may be produced as a 
specimen. 

It was early in a summer morning, wlien the air was cool, the 
earth moist, the whole face of the creation fresh and gay, Th& 
neisy world was scarce awake. Business had not quite shook off 
his sound sleep, and Riot had but just recUned his giddy head. All- 
was serene; all was still;- every thing tended to inspire tranquillity 
of mind, and invite to serious thought. — Only the wakeful lark had^ 
left her nest, and- was mounting on high, to salute the opening day. 
Elevated in air, she seemed to call the laborious husbandman to his- 
toil, and her fellow-songsters to their notes. — Earhest of birds, said 
Ij companion o& the dawn^ may I always rise at thy voice ! rise to 
offer the matin-song, and adore that beneficent Being, " who maketh 
the outgoings of the morning and evening to rejeice." — How charm- 
ing to rove abroad, at this sweet hour of prime ! to enjoy the calm 
of nature, to tread the dewy lawns, and taste the- unrifled freshness 
of the air !-^— The greyness of the dawn decays gradually. Abun- 
dance of ruddy streaks tinge the fleeces of the firmament; 'till, at 
length, the dappled aspect of the East is lost in one ardent and 

tkoundless blush. Is it the surmise of imagination, or do the^ 

KS 6ki€S- 



S04 THE FLORID STYLE. 

skies really redden with shame, to see so many supinely stretched 
on their drowsy pillows? — Herveifs lie/lections on a Flozoer-Garderi, 

This passage is rendered ridiculous by being unneces- 
sarily loaded with the tritest epithets of poetry. All 
the writings of this author are nearly in the same 
strain. 

There is a certain degree of elevation to which prose 
may be permitted to rise. Its elevation, however, must 
not be perpetual ; when the writer affects unvaried 
magnificence, it is probable that his reader will at 
length be seized with satiety. Ornament loses its 
effect when every page is crowded with embellish- 
ments. 

In the following beautiful passage, we discover none 
of those improprieties which appear in that quoted 
above. It discovers an elevation of sentiment, free 
from all puerility of language. 

There is a kind of voice that speaks through the universe. The 
language of nature is that of delight; and even the parts incapable 
of admitting this dehght, have yet the means of imparting it. Be- 
hold the sun ! The lustre which it spreads^ and the beauties which 
it enables you to discover, kindle your admiration. The Indian 
views it with rapture. He feels gratitude for its bounty. He ad- 
dresses the God of fire with hymns of praise, and songs of triumph. 
But in vain should he attempt to make that sun share his gratifica- 
tions. The orb of day is uninfluenced by his expressions of ado- 
ration. It heeds no protestations; it feels no emotions: but tliat 
orb administers to the comfort of the devotee, and conveys anima- 
tion and chearfulness to millions. — The structure of the heavens 
manifest such design, and wisdom, that some of the ancient philo- 
sophers supposed man born only to view and admire them. The 
bounty displayed in this earth, equals the grandeur conspicuous in 
the heavens. There is no region in which the volume of instruction 
is not unfolded. In every climate is found proper food for the sup- 
port 



THE FLORID STYLE. £05 

port of the inhabitants, and proper medicines for the removal of 
their diseases. And should every age even change its food, and its 
diseases, there would still be found in the world supplies sufficient 
for the inhabitant. So bountiful and provident is nature ! The 
distribution of oceans, seas, and rivers; the variety of fields, mea- 
dows, and groves; the luxuriance of fruits, herbs, and flowers; the 
return of spring, summer, autumn, and winter, not only regular in 
their approaches, but bringing with them presents, to make their 
return desirable; the pleasing vicissitudes of day and night; all 
have a voice whj^h by telling man, he is constantly receiving fa- 
vours, reminds him he should be ready to bestow them. — Dyer's 
Dhsertation on Benevolence. 

This passage expresses elevated notions in elevated lan- 
guage. It does not, like the one lately quoted, contain 
any thing ridiculous or disgusting. The orb of day is 
the only expression Avhich approaches to puerility ; 
but it is evidently introduced for the sake of avoiding 
repetition. 

There is one department of writing in which the 
florid style may be employed with propriety ; I mean 
the oriental tale. This species of composition pos- 
sesses many charms, when finished with a masterly 
hand ; and accordingly it has always been very popular 
from the time of its introduction into Europe. In 
France it was at one time cultivated with particular 
attention ; though the oriental tales Avhich obtained a 
currenc}^ in that country, had often very little to re- 
commend them. 

Ensuite vinrent de Syrie 

Vwlumes de contes sans fin, 

Ou i'on avoit mis a dessein 

L'oricntal allegoric, 

Les enigmes, et le genie 

Du TahnudistC; et du Kabbiuj 



206 THE SIMPLE ANJ> 

Et ce bon godt de leur patri^. 
Qui, loin de perdre en chemin, 
Parut, sortant de chez Barbin, 
Plus Arabe qu*en Arable. Hamilton. 

English literature can boast of several beautiful com- 
positions of this kind. It will be sufficient to men- 
tion Johnson's BasselaSy Ha wkes worth's ^hnaran and 
HameU and Langhorne's Sclyman andAlmena, together 
with the various tales wdiich occur in the Spectator y 
Rambler, and Adventurer. 

Although the oriental tale admits the florid style, y^t 
every page must not be highly ornamented. The mind 
is apt to be dazzled by too much splendour : and where 
all is magnificent, we become sick of admiration.. 



CHAP. XX.VL 

OF THE SIMPLE AND THE AFFECTED STYLE,. 

QIMPLICITY,. applied, to writing, is a term very 
frequently used ; but, like other critical terms, it is 
often used in a very loose and vague manner. This- 
circumstance has chiefly arisen from the variety of. 
meanings attached to the word. It will therefore be 
necessary to distinguish- these diflferent significations; 
and to shew in what sense the tev-m is properly appli- 
cable to siylc-. We may remark four different accep- 
tations in which it is taken. 

The first is simplicity of composition, as opposed, 
to a great variety of parts. This is the simplicity of 
plan in dramatic or epic poetry;, as distinguished from 

double 



THE AFFECTED STYLE. 207 

double plots, and crowded incidents. Thus we term 
the pkn of Home's Douglas simple, and that of Dryden's 
Spanish Friar complicated. We speak of the simpli- 
city of Homer's Iliad, in opposition to the digressions 
of Lucan's Pharsalia. In tliis sense, simplicity is the 
same with unity. 

The second sense is simplicity of thought, as opposed 
to refinement. Simple thoughts are what arise natu- 
rally, Avhat the subject or the occasion suggests ur- 
souglit, and what when once suggested, are easily ap- 
prehended. Refinement in writing expresses a less- 
natural and obvious train of thought, which it requires- 
a peculiar bent of genius to pursue. Thus we say^ 
that Parnell and Goldsmith exhibit greater simplicity 
©f thought than Cowley and Donne :. Cicero's thoughts 
©n moral subjects are natural ; Seneca's too refined and 
far-fetched. In these two senses of simplicity, when 
it is opposed either to variety of parts, or to refine- 
ment of thought, it bears no proper relation to style. 

In the third place, simplicity stands opposed to su- 
perfluous ornament, or pomp of language. Thus Jortin 
is termed a simple, and Gibbon a florid writer. The 
simple style, in this sense, coincides with the plain or 
with the neat style, which,.as it has already been treated 
of, requires no farther illustration. 

There is also another signification attached to the 
term- sina|ilicity. This does not refer to the degree of 
ornament employed, so much as to the easy and natural 
manner in which our language expresses our thoughts. 
In this sense, simplicity is compatible with the highest 
ornament. It stands opposed,, not to ornament, but to 
affectation. Thus Homer possesses this kind of sim- 
plicity 



208 THE SIMPLE ANI) 

piicity in the greatest perfection j and yet no poet has 
more ornament and beauty. 

A graceful simplicity of style seems to be of easy 
attainment; though in practice the matter is found to 
be quite otherwise.* It does not appear difficult to 
eatch the manner of Xenophon, or Addison ; yet who 
has ever imitated either of them with success ? 

A writer of simplicity expresses himself in a manner 
which every one thinks easy to be attained. There are 
no marks of art in his expression ; it seems the very 
language of nature : you see in the style, not the writer- 
and his labour, but the man in his owri natural charac- 
ter. He may be rich in his expression ; he may avail 
himself of the beauties of figurative language: still, 
however, every thing seems to flow from him without- 
effort ; and he appears to write in this manner, not be-- 
cause he has studied it, but because it is most natural 
to him. Yet it must not be imagined that a style of 
this kind is to be attained without study. To conceal 
its own efforts,^ is said to be the perfection of art : and 
when we find an author's style characterized by a beau- 
tiful simphcity, we may conclude that this is the effect ; 
of natural ingenuity aided by an assiduous attention to 
the rules of composition. 

Reading an author of simplicity, is like maintaining 
familiar conversation with a person of distinction, who 
lays open his sentiments without affectation or disguise. 



* *' It;que eum qui audiunt," says Cicefo, '* quamvis ipsl infantes 
sint, taraen illo modo confidunt se posse dicere. Nam orationis 
subtilicas imitabilis quidem ilia videtur esse existimanti, sed nihil est 
experienti minus."— Orator, 

But 



THE AFFECTED STYLE. Z09 

But a mode of writing which seems artificial and elabo- 
rate, has always this disadvantage, that it exhibits an 
autnor in forniy like a man at court, where the splen- 
dour of dress, and the ceremonial of behaviour conceal 
those peculiarities which distinguish one person from 
another. 

The ancients are more remarkable for simplicity 
than the moderns. The reason is obvious. The for- 
mer wrote from the dictates of natural genius, and did 
not endeavour to model their own compositions accord- 
ing to those of others. When an author attempts this, 
he is always in danger of deviating into affectation. 
The more early Greek writers had no proper models 
to imitate ; and accordingly they surpass those of 
every other learned nation in point of beautiful sim- 
plicity. This quality is highly conspicuous in the 
writings of Homer, Hesiod, Anacreon, Theocritus, 
Herodotus, and Xenophon. Rome can also boast of 
several writers of this description j particularly Te- 
rence, Lucretius, and Caesar. 

In the catalogue of English authors, there are several 
distinguished for a becoming simplicity of manner. 
Although Dr. Tillotson cannot be recommended as an 
elegant and polished writer, yet hh style is remarkably 
simple and unaffected. It has already been observed 
that he has no pretensions to genuine eloquence, if that 
term be understood to include vehemence and strength 
of expression, the beauties of figurative language, and 
the correct and harmonious arrangement of sentences. 
His real merit, however, must not be overlooked. A 
constant vein of piety and good sense runs through all 
his works. His manner is earnest and serious j and so 

much 



SlIO THE SIMPLE AND 

much useful instruction is conveyed in a natural style,- 
that his works can never be suffered to fall into disre- . 
pute. They will be held in estimation as long as the 
English language is understood ; not, indeed, as mo- 
dels of eloquence, but as the productions of an amiable 
writer whose manner is strongly expressive of his in- 
nate goodness of heart. " There is," says Goldsmith, 
*' nothing peculiar to the language of Archbishop Til- 
lotson, bat his manner of writing is inimitable ; for one 
who reads him wonders why he himself did not think 
and speak in that very manner. The turn of his periods 
is agreeable, though artless ; and every thing he says 
seems to flow spontaneously from inward conviction/'* 

Sir William Temple is also remarkable for simplicity 
of style. In point of ornament and correctness, he rises 
a degree above Tiliotson ; though for the latter quality, 
he is by no means remarkable. His language is chiefly 
distinguished by its smoothness and amenity. He not 
unfrequently becomes prolix and careless ^ yet he sel- 
dom fatigues the attention of his reader. No writer 
whatever has stamped upon his style a more lively im- 
pression of his own character. In reading his works, 
we seem engaged in conversation with hint; we be- 
come thoroughly acquainted with him, not merely as 
an author, but as a man. With an author of this cha- 
racter we contract a kind of friendship. 

It has been confidently asserted that Temple was a 
man of no learning. Those who entertain this opinion 
ought to bestow a second perusal upon his works; 
which certainly indicate that their author was not defi— 



* Goldsmith's Essays, vol.. iii. essay xx» 

cient' 



THE AFFECTED STYLE. tit 

cient either in scholastic attainments, or in knowledge 
of the world. He seems to have been competently 
skilled in the polite languages both of ancient and mo- 
dern times, and to have possessed a general knowledge 
in the different departments of elegant literature. Per- 
haps he Avas not much versed in science ; though it is 
not to be presumed that he was unacquainted with its 
most important branches. In proof of these assertions, 
I need only refer to his essays on poetry, on heroic vir- 
tue, and on ancient and modern learning. 

Of the more correct and ornamented degree of the 
simple manner, Mr. Addison undoubtedly exhibits the 
most perfect example. In figurative language he is 
extremely rich ; particularly in similes and metaphors ; 
which are so employed as ta render his style splendid 
•without being gaudy. There is not the least affecta- 
tion in his manner ; we see no marks of labour, nothing 
forced or constrained. Great elegance is every w^here 
joined with great ease and simplicity. He is, in par- 
ticular, distinguished by a character of modesty and 
politeness, which appears in all his wTitings. No au- 
thor has a more popular and insinuating manner. His 
works are also recommended by the great regard which 
he constantly show^s for virtue and religion. 

The literary merit of Mr. Goldsmith* seems to bear 
some analogy to that of Mr. Addison. His diction is 
correct and elegant, and at the same time free from 
every species of affectation. His language flows from 
him without perceptible effort ; yet it is always such as 



* Goldsmith, who is commonly styled doctor, never obtained any 
higher degree than that of bachelor of physic. 

it 



THE SIMPLE AND 

it would be difficult to improve. The classical ease of 
his manner has seldom been equalled. He has exerted 
his talents upon a great variety of subjects ; and on 
whatever subject he happens to write he is always read 
witli pleasure. His Essays^ Life of PariieUy Citizen of 
the World, and Vicar of Wakefield, are compositions 
sufficient to have established his reputation as a writer. 
His celebrity, however, does not solely depend upon 
these productions; it is also supported, by the conspi- 
cuous merit of his dramatic and poetical works. Dr. 
Johnson has very justly characterized Goldsmith as " a 
man of such variety of powers, and such felicity of per- 
formance, that he always seemed to do best that which 
he was doing ; a man who had the art of beiug minute 
%vithout tediousness, and general without confusion j 
whose language was copious without exuberance, exact 
without constraint, and easy without weakness.'* * 

Sterne is generally mentioned as a writer of great 
simplicity of style ; but he does not appear worthy of 
being classed under the present head. His simplicity 
is not of the most graceful and elegant character. Yet 
his works do undoubtedly furnish examples of a style 
at once simple and ornamented. In support of this 
assertion, I shall venture to produce the following pas- 
sage ; which, though not altogether faultless, seems 
highly beautiful. 

Maria, though not tally was nevertheless of the first order of fine 
fornris. Affliction- had touch'd her looks with something that was 
scarce eartiily. Still she was feminine : and so much was there 
about her of all that the heart wishes, or the eye looks for in woman. 



Johnson's Life of Parnell, 

tlmtj- 



THE AFFECTED STYLE. 213 

that, could llie traces be ever worn out of her brain, and those of 
Eliza out of mine, she should not only eat of my bread, and drink 
of my cup, but Maria should lie in my bosom, and be unto me as a 
daughter. — Adieu, poor luckless maiden! Imbibe the oil and wine 
which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, 
now pours into thy wouikIs. The being who has twice bruised thee, 
can only bind them up for ever. — Sterne^s SentimentulJaurney, 

It is to be lamented that this author should ever have 
employed his talents in recommending a system of re- 
fined libertinism. It is also to be lamented that he 
who could so exquisitely delineate the pleasures of 
general benevolence, should have been found noto- 
riously deficient in the common duties of humanity. 
In the preface to his SermonSy he wishes to persuade 
his reader that they rather flow from the heart than 
from the head. If this is the case, they must be sorry 
productions ; for his heart was hard and unfeeling^, 
** What is called sentimental writing," says the Earl of 
Orford, " though it be understood to appeal solely to 
the heart, may be the product of a bad one. One 
would imagine that Sterne had been a. man of a very 
tender heart — yet I know from indubitable authority, 
that his mother who kept a school, having run in debt, 
on account of an extravagant daughter, would have 
rotted in jail, if the parents of her scholars had not 
raised a subscription for her. Her son had too much 
sentiment to have any feeling, A dead ass was more 
important to him than a living mother."* Yet this is 
the man who inculcates the principles of universal phil- 
anthropy ; the man who pretends to extend his bene- 



Walpoliana, vol. i, 

volent 



£14 THE SIMPLE AND 

volent views to the happiness of the very fly that acci- 
dent may expose to the rude hand of violence. 

That Sterne possessed the power of moving the pas- 
sions, must certainly be admitted : the episodes of Le 
Fevfe and Maria are eminently pathetic. But it may 
be disputed whether he possessed all that wit and hu- 
mour for which the courtesy of some readers has given 
him credit. If obscenity be Avit, and quaint obscurity 
humour, he is infinitel}^ superior to Butler and Cer- 
vantes. But if it should appear that obscenity is 
within the reach of the poorest pretender to genius, 
and that to plunge into the depth of obscurity, requires- 
iiothing more than a confused brain, Sterne will no 
longer be regarded as a writer of the greatest origina- 

lity.* _ ^ - 

The most illustrious example which has lately been 
exhibited of a noble simplicity of style, occurs in the 
historical production of Charles James Fox, of immor- 
tal memory. His composition is so deeply impressed 
Avith all the distinguishing qualities of an exalted and 
generous mind, that no ingenuous reader can peruse 
it without catching some portion of his spirit. If he 
occasionally emploj's a word or phrase which may be 
considered as somewhat homely or familiar, it is un- 
doubtedly to be attributed to his anxiety to avoid every 
appearance of ponyp and affectation ; and it is to be 
hoped that so conspicuous a model may have a strong- 
tendency to counteract the seductive examples of John- 
son and Gibbon. He uniformly displays a genuine 



* See Dr. Ferriar' g Illustrations of Sterne. 

Englisk 



THE AFFECTED STYLE. £15 

Bnglish style ; and his thoughts support themselves by 
their intrinsic dignity. It cannot be sufficiently re- 
gretted that Mr. Fox clid not live to complete the plan 
which he had so happily formed : but his work, even 
in its present state, will ever remain a noble monument 
of his genius and patriotism. Hume evinces great 
acuteness, but Fox evinces great wisdom. 

Of an author who has rendered his style much less 
beautiful by want of simplicity, I cannot point out a 
more remarkable instance than Lord Shaftesburj^. It 
has already been hinted that he is a writer in whom 
some beauties are blended with many deformities. His 
language is rich and musical : but he seems to have 
■considered it as beneath the dignity of one of his rank, 
to speak like the rest of mankind. Hence he is ever in 
buskins ; and arrayed in pomp and magnificence. In 
every sentence Ave discern evident marks of art and 
labour. We perceive nothing of that ease which ac- 
companies the expression of a sentiment proceeding 
warm from the heart. In the use of figures and orna- 
ment of every description, he shows sufficient skill ; 
but his fondness for them is too visible. Having once 
found a metaphor which pleases his fancy, he knows 
not how to lay it aside; but often pursues it until it 
becomes quite disgusting and ridiculous. What ap- 
pears very surprising, Shaftesbury was a professed 
admirer of simplicity. He is always extolling it in 
the ancients ; and at the 5ame time censuring the mo- 
derns ?or their affectation, and rawn£ss of fancy. He 
possessed a false refinement of taste, without any 
Warmth of passion, or vivacity of feeling. The cold- 
ness of his character led him to that artificial and 

stately 



516 THE SIMPLE AND 

stately manner which appears in all his M'ritings, He 
seems highly fond of wit and raillery ; which he at- 
tempts to promote, but with very little success. His 
wit is always blunt, and his raillery stiff and aukward. 

Dr. Berkeley has justly ridiculed this pretended rival 
©f Plato, for his affectation and self-importance. In 
one of his dialogues, a speaker produces the book en- 
titled Advice to an Author^ and reads a brilliant passage 
from it in a declamatory tone, adjusting all the pauses 
as if he had been reciting a poeni in blank verse. 
After he has finished his declamation, the dialogue 
proceeds in the following manner : *' Euphranor, 
having heard thus far, cried out : AVhat I will you 
never have done with your poetry ? another time may 
serve : but why should we break off our conference to 
read a play ? You are mistaken, it is no play nor 
poetry, replied Alciphon, but a famous modern critic 
moralizing in prose. You must know this great man 
hath (to use his own words) revealed a grand arcanum 
to the world, having instructed mankind in what he 
calls mirrour-writing, self-discoursing practice, and 
shew'd ' That by virtue of an intimate recess, we may 
discover a certain duplicity of soul, and divide ourself 
into two parties, or (as he varies the phrase) practically 
form the dual number.' In consequence whereof he 
has found that a man may argue with himself: and not 
only with himself, but also with notions, sentiments, 
and vices, which by a marvellous prosopopoeia he con- 
verts into so many ladies j and so converted, he con- 
futes and confounds them in a divine strain. Can any 
thing be finer, bolder, or more sublime ? Euph. It is 
very wonderful. I thought imleed you had been read- 
ing 



THE AFFECTED STYLE. 217 

ing a tragedy. Is this he who despiseth our univer- 
sities, and sets up for reforming the style and taste of 
the age ? -Alc. The very sanie. This is the admired 
critic of our times. Nothing can stand the test of his 
correct judgment, which is equally severe to poets and 
parsons."* 

The philosophy of Lord Shaftesbury, as well as his 
style, has found its admirers. His Avritings, if we may 
safely rely oq Dr. Hutcheson, will be esteemed while 
any reflection remains among men. t There is some 
probability, however, that this prediction will not be 
verified. 

From the account which has been given of Shaftes- 
bury's manner, it may easily be imagined that he would 
mislead those who blindly admired him. We have one 
remarkable exemplification in Dr. Blackwell of Aber- 
deen, an author well known for his Life of Homer ^X 
Letters on Mythology, and Memoirs of the Court of 
Augustus, He discovers ingenuity and learning ; but 
is infected with an extravagant love of the artificial 
style, and of that parade of language v/hich distin- 
guishes the Shaftesbureah manner. 

Beside those general characters of style which have 
already been pointed out, several others might perhaps 
be mentioned. Conceited writers, for instance, disco- 
ver their spirit so much in their composition, that it 
imprints on their style a character of pertness \ thoutrh 



* Berkeley's Minute Philosopher, dial. v. 

t Kutcheson's Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of Beauty and 
V^irtue, pref. 
X See Dr.Warton's Essajon Pope, vol. i. p. 129. 

I confess 



218 SIMPLE AND AFFECTED STYLE. 

1 confess it is difficult to determine whether this can 
be classed among the attributes of style, or is rather to 
be ascribed entirely to the thought. But to whatever 
class we refer it, all appearances of it ought to be 
avoided with care, as a most disgusting blemish in 
writing. 

From the observations which have been suggested, 
it may be inferred that to determine among all these 
different manners of writing, which is positively pre- 
ferable, is neither easy nor necessary. ^ Style is a field 
that admits of great latitude. Its quaHties in different 
authors may be very different, and yet in them all beau- 
tiful. Room must be left here for genius ; for that 
particular determination which every one receives from 
nature to one manner of expression more than another. 
Some general qualities indeed there are of such impor- 
tiince, that they should always, in every kind of com- 
position, be kept in view ; and some defects which we 
should always study to avoid. An ostentatious, a fee- 
ble, a harsh, or an obscure style, for example, can never 
be adopted with propriety ; and perspicuity, strength, 
neatness, and simplicity, are beauties which ought 
always to be studied. But with regard to the mixture 
of all, or the degree of predominancy to be allowed to 
any one of those qualities, in forming our peculiarly 
distinctive manner, no precise rules can be given ; nor 
shall I venture to point out any one model as abso- 
lutely perfect. 



CHAP, 



[ 219 ] 



CHAR XXVII. 

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF A PASSAGE IN 
THE WRITINGS OF ADDISON. 

TTAVING insisted fully on the nature of style, I 
shall now descend to a critical analysis of par- 
ticular passages in the writings of eminent authors. 
An analysis of this kind will tend further to illustrate 
the subject ; as it will suggest observations which I 
have not yet had occasion to make, and will shew in 
the most practical light, the use of those which I have 
made. In the prosecution of this plan I shall use all 
possible brevity ; as the mind cannot long dwell with 
pleasure upon miniite objects, 

" As a perfect tragedy is the noblest production of human nature, 
so it is cajxible of giving the mind one of the most deligiitful and 
most improving eniertainments." 

This is an excellent introductory sentence. It is clear, 
precise, and simple. The first period of a d^scaurse 
ought always to be of a moderate length* The mode, 
however, in which the participle giving is here em- 
ployed, does not possess much dignity. Affording 
might perhaps be substituted with propriety. The 
different tenses of the verb give are often used in a 
manner which approaches to the colloquial or familiar 
style. *' The Anacreontiques therefore of Cowley,'* 
says Dr. Johnsoi% ^^ give now all the pleasure w^hich 
they ever gave." 

!> A \drtuous 



220 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

" A virtuous man, says Seneca, struggling with miBfortunes, is such 
a spectacle as gods might look upon with pleasure; and such a 
pleasure it is which one meets with in the representation of a well- 
written tragedy." 

The first member of this sentence is harsh and disa- 
greeable. *' Such a spectacle as gods might behold, 
with pleasure/' seems more harmonious. 

My present business is not with the author's senti- 
ments: it may not, however, be improper to observe 
that Avhat he advances in the sentence now quoted, 
can only apply to those tragedies of which the chief 
personages are virtuous. 

" Diversions of this kind wear out of our thoughts every thing that 
is mean and httle." 

The word diversions cannot without manifest impro- 
priety be taken to signify the more solemn amusements 
of the theatre. '* Diversion,'' says Dr. Johnson, 
*' seems to be something lighter than amusement, and 
less forcible than pleasure.^' It has nearly the same 
signification with sport. The tragical sports of the 
theatre, is a strange expression. 

" They cherish and cultivate that humanity which is the orna- 
ment of our nature." 

This metaphorical language is exceptionable. The 
act of cherishing and the act of cultivating bear no 
kind of analogy to each other; and therefore ought 
not to have been so intimately connected. The subject 
of the former must be possest of animal life ; that of 
the latter must be inert matter. With what propriety, 
then, can the same object be represented as chei'ished 
and cultivated ? 

"They 



A PASSAGE OF ADDISON. 221 

" They soften insolence, sooth affliction, and subdue the mind to 
the dispensations of Providence." 
This sentence is smooth and elegant. 

" It is no wonder, therefore, that, in all the polite nations of the 
world, this part of the drama has met with public encouragement," 
This sentence requires no particular consideration. 

" The modern tragedy excels that of Greece and Rome, in the 
intricacy and disposition of the fable; but, what a Christian writer 
should be ashanied to own, falls infinitely short of it in the nioral 
part of the performance." 

It was formerly observed that in the members of a 
sentence where two objects are either compared or 
contrasted, some resemblance in the language and 
construction should be preserved. This rule is vialated 
in the above passage. A slight alteration will, in my 
opinion, improve the sentence: " The modern tragedy 
excels that of Greece and Rome, in the intricacy and 
disposition of the fable ; but, what a Christian writer 
should be ashamed to own, falls infinitely short of it in 
the purity and beauty of the morality." 

" Tins I may shew more at large hereafter; and in the mean titne, 
that I may contribute something towards the improvement of the 
English tragedy, I shall take notice, in this and the following papers, 
of some particular parts in it that seem liable to exception." 

This period is arranged with clearness and perspicuity„ 
Although in the former part of it that is employed as 
a conjunction, yet it afterwards occurs as a relative 
pronoun. Of this word Mr. Addison seems to have 
been remarkably fond. — Which is more definite in its 
signification than that^ being never employed in any 
other way than as a relative ; w^hereas that is a w^ord of 
various senses 5 sometimes a demonstrative pronoun, 

often 



222 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

often a conjunction. In some cases we are indeed 
obliged to use that for a relative, in order to avoid the 
ungraceful repetition of which in the same sentence. 
But when we are under no necessity of this kind, which 
is generally the preferable word. The following re- 
marks on this subject occur in one of Mr. Cowper's 
letters. " Upon solemn occasions, as in prayer or 
preaching for instance, I would be strictly correct, 
and upon stately ones ; for instance, were I writing an 
epic poem, I would be so likewise, but not upon 
familiar occasions. God who heareth prayer, is right. 
Hector who saw Patroclus, is right* And the man 
that dresses me every day, is in my mind right also ; 
because the contrary would give an air of stiffness and 
pedantry to an expression that in respect of the matter 
of it, cannot be too negligently made up,"* 

" Aristotle observes that the Iambic verse in the Greek tongue 
was the most proper for tragedy ; because at the same time that it 
lifted up the discourse from prose, it was that which approached 
nearer to it than any other kind of verse." 

This sentence contains a great superfluity of words. 
The author's meaning may be expressed in the following 
manner : *' Aristotle observes that the Iambic verse in 
the Greek tongue was the most proper for tragedy; 
because, while it elevated the discourse a degree above 
prose, it approached nearer to it than any other kind 
of verse." 

" For, snys he, we may observe that men in ordinary discourse 
very often speak Iaml)ics without taking notice of it. We may 
n ake the same observation of our English blank verse, which often 

* Hayley's Life of Cowper, vol. ii. p. 314. 



A PASSAGE OF ADDIS0*7. 2C3 

CRters into our common discourse, though we do not attend to it^ 
and is such a due medium between rhyme and prose, that it seems 
wonderfully adapted to tragedy." 

In these sentences we shall find little to commend. 
Taking notice of it, is a feeble and ungraceful close, 
which might have been easily avoided. In the other 
period the words, which often enters into our common 
(tiscourse though we do not attend to it, are altogether 
superfluous. They are nothing more than the repe- 
tition of a circumstance of which we are sufficiently 
apprized by the application of the remark quoted in 
the former sentence, 

** I am therefore very much offended when 1 see a play in rhyme; 
which is as absurd in English, as a tragedy of hexameters would 
have been in Greek or Latin." 

This is a neat period. 

" The solecism is, I think, still greater in those plays that have 
some scenes in rhyme and some in blank verse, which are to be 
looked upon as two several languages ; or where we see some parti- 
cular similes dignified with rhyme, at the same time that av^y 
tiling about them lies in blank verse. I would not however debar 
the poet from concluding his tragedy, or, if he pleases, every act 
of it, with two or three couplets, which may have the same effect 
as an air in the Italian opera after a long rexitativo, and gives the 
actor a graceful €jriY." 

In the former of these sentences the phrase, every thing 
about them lies in blank verse, appears liable to excep- 
tion : in the latter the two concluding members are not 
properly counterbalanced : the last is of such dispro- 
portionate length, that the harmony is in a great mea« 
sure destroyed. 

" Besides, that we see a diversity of numbers in some parts of the 
L 3 old 



2S4 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

old tragedy, in order to hinder the ear from being tired with the 
same continued niodulation of voice." 

The conjunction that is i^itroduced without any pro- 
priety. By the insertion of it, this sentence, instead of 
seeming complete, has rather the appearance of a de- 
tached member. Why, in the present instance, old 
should have been preferred to ancient, it is not easy tp 
discover. 

** For the same reason I do not dislike the speeches in our English 
iragedy that close with an hemistich, or half verse, notwithstanding 
the person who speaks after it begins a new verse, without filling up 
the preceding one; nor with abrupt pauses and breakings off in the 
middle of a verse, when they humour any passion that is expressed 
by it/' 

This sentence is devoid of correctness and elegance. 
To speak after an hemistich, is certainly a very uncouth 
expression. The latter part of the period has a kind 
of mutilated appearance. One vi'ould be led to suspect 
that / am not displeased with had formerly occupied the 
place of / do not dislike ; and that when the author 
made the correction, he forgot to adjust the whole of 
the sentence. *' For the same reason I am not dis- 
pleased w^ith the speeches in our English tragedy, &c. 
nor with abrupt pauses and breakings-off in the middle 
of a verse," &c. It would perhaps have increased the 
smoothness of the period, without detracting from its 
significance, had it been permitted to close at the word 
passion, 

" Since I am upon this subject, I must observe that our English 
poets have succeeded much better in the style than in the sentiments 
of their tragedies. '^ 

Since I am upon this subject, I micst observe that — 

These 



A PASSAGE OF ADDISON. 225 

These words, introduced without any apparent neces • 
sity, occasion a sHght ambiguity. While they seem to 
refer to what was stated in the last sentence, they in 
fact refer to the general subject of which the author is 
treating. 

" Their Linguage is very often noble and sonorous, but the sense 
cither very trifling or very common." 

This sentence is perhaps capable of being improved ♦ 
*' Their language is often noble and sonorous, while 
the sense is either very trifling or very common." 

** Oil the contrary, in the ancient tragedies, and indeed in those 
of Corneille and Racine, though the expressions are very great, it is 
the thought tliat bears them up and swells them. For my own part, 
I prefer a noble sentiment that is depressed with homely language, 
infinitely before a vulgar one that is blown up with all the sound and 
energy of expression." 

Great is an epithet which no other critical writer, so 
far as I remember, has ever applied to expressions. 
The metaphorical language which occurs at the con- 
clusion of this passage, is somewhat ludicrous. An 
object may be blown np with wind, but never with 
sound. 

" Whether this defect in our tragedies may arise from want of 
genius, knowledge, or experience in the writers, or from their com- 
pliance with the vitious taste of their readers, who are better judges 
of the language than of the sentiments, and consequently relish the 
one more than the other, I cannot determine. But I believe it 
might rectify the conduct both of the one and the other, if the -writer 
laid down the whole contexture of his dialogue in plain English, be- 
fore he turned it into blank verse; and if the reader, after the peru- 
sal of a scene, would consider the naked thought of every speech in 
it, when divested of all its tragic ornaments : by this means, without 
being imposed upon by words, we may judge impartially of the 
thought, and consider whether it be natural or great enough for the 

persQn 



226 CRITICAL EXAMINATiON OF 

person that utters it, whether it deserves to shine in such a blaze d( 
eloquence, or shew itself in such a variety of lights as are generally 
»iade use of hy the writers of our English tragedy.'* 

A great variety of circumstances is here introduced 
^vith accuracy and precision. In the second sentence 
we find vieans employed as a noun of the singular 
number ; an usage which Johnson and Lowth do not 
explicit!]/ approve. On the other hand, Campbell and 
Priestley contend for its propriety ; and their opinion 
is supported by the authority of Addison, Swift, Pope, 
Burke, Robertson, Goldsmith, and many other writers 
of eminence. It is certainly more agreeable to the 
general analogy of the English language, as well as to 
the etymology of the word, to vary it in the singular 
and the plural form ; but our ears are too much habi- 
tuated to the common practice, to relish the phrases 
** by this mean,^'* *• by that mean,''* 

" I must in the next place observe, that when our thoughts are 
great and just, they are often obscured by the sounding phrases, hard 
metaphors, and forced expressions in which they are cloihed^ 
Shakspeare is -often faulty in this particular." 

This passage appears unexceptionable. 

"** There is a fine obser\'ation in Aristotle to this purpose, which I 
" have never seen quoted .'* 
Here the relative pronoun which refers grammatically 
to purpose, and not, as the sense of the passage requires, 
to observation. This defect might have been remedied 
by the following arrangement : " To this purpose there 
is a fine observation in Aristotle, which I have never 
seen quoted." 

" The expression, says he, ought to be very much laboured in the 
junactive parts of the fable, as in descriptions, similitudes, narrations 

and, 



A PASSAGE OF ADDISON. 227 

and the like; in which the opinions, manners, and passions of men 
are not represented ; for these (namely the opinions, manners, and 
passions) are apt to be obscured by pompous phrases and elaborate 
expressions. Horace, who copied most of his opinions after Aristotle, 
seems to h^ve had his eye on the foregoing rule, in the following 
verses : 

Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermooe pedestri ; 

Telephus et Peleus, &c." 

Nothing can be more awkward than the parenthesis 
which is here introduced. The last period would per- 
haps be rendered more correct by substituting in com- 
posing the following verses, instead of in the following 
verses, 

" Among our modern English poets, there is none who was better 
turned for tragedy than Lee; if instead of favouring the impetuosity 
©f his genius, he had restrained it, and kept it within its proper 
bounds." 

The whole sentence discovers a confusion of ideas. We 
are first told that Lee actually possest a genius equal to 
that of any of our modern tragic poets ; though it is 
afterwards insinuated that he only would have possest 
it, provided he had restrained it within due bounds. 
If a poet is naturally turned for tragedy, he certainly 
must possess that turn, whether he subject his genius 
to the control of judgment, or allow it to produce such 
instances of extravagance as are to be found in the 
V^orks of Lee. 

*' His thoughts are wonderfully suited to tragedy, but frequently, 
lost in such a cloud of words, that it is hard to see the beauty of 
them: there is an infinite fire in his works, but so involved in 
smoke, that it does not appear in half its lustre. He frequently suc- 
ceeds in the passionate parts of the tragedy, but more particularly 
where he slackens his efforts, and eases the style of those epithets 
and metaphors, in which he so much abounds. What can be more 
L ^ jiaturaL 



^28 CRITICAL ENAMINATION OF 

natural, more soft, or more passionate, than that line in Starira's 
speech, where she describes the charms of Alexander's conversation ? 

" Then he would talk — Good gods ! how he would talk !" 
The author has here expressed his sentiments with 
felicity. The language is correct and polished ; and 
though abounding in metaphor, it is free from affecta- 
tion or impropriety. 

" That unexpected break in the line, and turning the description 
of his manner of talking, into an admiration of it, is inexpressibly 
beautiful, and wonderfully suited to that fond character of the per- 
son that speaks it." 

As the words wonderfully suited occur in a sentence not 
far distant from this, they ought not to have been so 
soon repeated. The period might have closed thus : 
*' and finely adapted to the fond character of the per- 
son by whom it is uttered." This arrangement would 
remove the intrusive particle it from the honourable 
situation which it now maintains. 

" There is a simplicity in the words which outshines the utmost 
pride of expression. 

This sentence possesses considerable beauty. 

" Otway has followed nature in the language of his tragedy, and 
therefore shines in the passionate parts, more than any of our 
English poets.'^ 

The verb shines is placed too near its compound out- 
shines, 

*' As there is something fanailiar and domestic in the fable of his 
tragedy, more than in those of any other poet, he has little pomp, 
but great force in his expressions. For which reason, though he has 
admirably succeeded in die tender and melting part of his tragedies, 
he sometimes falls into too great a familiarity of phrase in those 
parts, which, by Aristotle's rule, ought to have been raised and sup- 
ported by the dignity of expression. 



A PASSAGE OF ADDISON". 229 

Of the four sentences last quoted, three conclude with 
the substantive expression either in its singular or its 
plural form. 

" It has been observed by others, that this poet has founded hl» 
tragedy of Venice Preserved on so wrong a plot, that the greatest 
characters in it are those of rebels and traitors." 
The word character^ when applied in this manner, de- 
notes some person together with the assemblage of his 
qualities. It is improper to say *' The greatest persons 
are the persons of rebels and traitors ;" an expression 
to which that contained in the conclusion of the abov.e 
passage is equivalent. The words those o/" should have 
been omitted. 

" Had the hero of his play discovered the same good qualities.in 
the defence of his country that he shewed for its ruin and subversion, 
the audience could not enough pity and admire him : but as he is 
now represented, we can only say of him, what the Roman histo^-ian 
says of Catiline, that his fall would have been glorious (si pro patria 
sic concidisset) had he so fallen in the service of his country.*" 

This, though an agreeable sentence, is not free from 
faults. The author speaks of the good qualities which 
the hero of Venice Preserved shews for the ruin of his 
country. This is certainly an attempt in which good 
qualities were never exhibited. In this passage the 
words ruin and subversion are both used, though they 
do not serve to mark any different shades in the idea. 

* Spectator, No. 59. 



CHAP, 



[ 230 ] 



CHAP. XXVIII. 

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF A PASSAGE IN ' 
THE WRITINGS OF SWIFT. 

«< fir^HE players having now almost done with the comedy called 
A the Beggar^s Opera, for the season ; it may be wo unplea- 
sant' speculation, to reflect a little upon this dramatic piece, so sin- 
gular in the subject and manner, so much an original, and which 
hath frequently given so very agreeable an entertainment." 

This introductory sentence is not entitled to much 
commendation. The players having now almost done 
with the comedy y is a phrase not altogether free from 
vulgaritj. 

** Although an evil taste be very apt to prevail, both here and in 
London; yet there is a point which whoever can rightly touch, will 
never fail of pleasing a very great majority ; so great, that the 
cUsIikers out of dulhiess or affectation, will be silent, and forced to 
fall in with the herd : the point I mean, is what we call humour; 
which, in its perfection, is allowed to be much preferable to wit j if 
it be not rather the roost useful, and agreeable species of it." 

This sentence, though sufficiently perspicuous, is cer- 
tain-iy devoid of elegance. There is a point which 
whoever can rightly touch, is uncouth phraseology. 

♦*I agree with Sir WiHiam Temple, that the word is peculiar to 
our English tongue; hut 1 differ from him in opinion, that the 
thing itself is peculiar to the English nation, because the contrary 
may be found i-n many Spanish, Italian, and French productions: 
and particularly, whoever hath a taste for true humour, will find an 
hundred instances of it, in those volumes printed in France, under 
the name of Le Theatre Italien ; to 5ay nothiog of Rabelais^ 
Cervantes, and many others," * 

The 



EXAMINATION OF A PASSAGE OF SWIFT. £31 

The word to which the author refers in the beginning 
of this sentence, is humour : though, as he had men- 
tioned wit at the close of tiie last, a slight degree of 
ambiguity is occasioned. It would be more perspi- 
cuous to say *' The word humour is peculiar to our 
Englisli tongue." In this clause, the seems more pro- 
per than our. This sentence is but unskilfully con- 
structed. The member by which it is closed, follows 
with a very halting pace. I shall venture to suggest a 
few alterations ; ** I agree with Sir William Temple, 
that the word humour is peculiar to the English tongue ; 
but I differ from him in the opinion, that the quality 
which it denotes, is peculiar to the English nation. 
We find abundant proofs of the contrary in many Spa- 
nish, Italian, and French productions. Whoever hath 
a taste for true humour, will find an hundred instances 
of it, in those volumes printed in France under the 
title of Le Theatre lialien,^' 

" Now I take the comedy or farce, (or whatever name the critics 
will allow it) called the Beggar's Opera, to excel in this article of 
humour; and upon that merit to have met with such prodigious 
success, both here and in England." 

This sentence is very deficient in elegance, 

"As to poetry, eloquence, and musick, which are said to have 
most power over the minds of men; it is certain, that very few have 
a taste or judgment of the excellencies of the two former; and if a 
man succeed in either, it is upon the authority of those few judges, 
that lend their taste to the bulk of readers, who have none of their 
own. I am told, there are as few good judges in musick ; and that 
among those who crowd the Operas, nine in ten go thither merely 
out of curiosity, fashion, or affectation." 

This paragraph suggests no material observation. 

" But a taste for humour is in some measure affixed to the very 

nature 



232 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

nature of man, and generally obvious to the vulgar, except upon 
subjects too refined, and superior to their understanding." 

A taste for humour is obvious to the vulgar, is a very 
inaccurate expression. It is humour itself that is 
obvious to the vulgar, not a taste for humour. 

" And as this taste for humour is purely natural, so is hamovir 
itself; neither is it a talent confined to men of wit or learning ; for 
we observe it sometimes among common servants, awd the meanest 
of the people, while the very owners are often ignorant of the gift, 
they possess." 

By humour itself, the author must mean the exertions 
of the natural talent of humour : but in the next clause 
he confounds the talent with its exertions. The owners 
of a talent, is an expression by no means elegant. 

" I know very well, that this happy talent is contemptibly treated 
by critics under the name of low humour, or lovv comedy ; but I 
know likewise, that the Spaniards and Italians, who are allowed to 
have the most wit of any nation in Europe, do most excel in it, and 
do most esteem it." 

Still the author discovers a want of precision in his 
ideas. A talent for humour can never with any pro- 
priety be termed low comedy, 

" By what disposition of the mind, what influence of the stars, or 
what situation of the climate, this endowment is bestowed upon 
mankind, may be a question fit for philosophers to discuss. It is 
certainly the best ingredient towards that kind of satyr, which is 
most useful, and gives the least offence; which, instead of lashing, 
laughs men out of their follies, and vices ; and is the character that 
gives Horace the preference to Juvenal.'^ 

The first of these sentences is unexceptionable, but the 
last cannot be commended. — If is certainly the best 
ingredient towards that kind of satyr. Here the prepo- 
sition towards is used with little propriety : either in or 



A PASSAGE OF SWIFT. 233 

(if would be preferable. The period ought to have 
closed with the word vices: the next clause forms a 
complete sentence. *' It is the possession of this talent 
that gives Horace the preference to Juvenal." 

" And although some things are too serious, solemn, or sacred to 
be turned into ridicule, yet the abuses of them are certainly not; 
since it is allowed that corruptions in religion, politicks, and law 
' may be proper topicks fur this kind of satyr." 

*' There are two ends that men propose in writing satyr; one of 
them less noble than the other, as regarding nothing farther than the 
private satisfaction, and pleasure of the writer; but without any 
view towards personal malice : the other is a publick spirit, prompt- 
ing men of genius and virtue, to mend the world as far as they are 
able.'' 

Public spirit is not an end which men propose in writing 
satire ; it is one of the motives which impel them to 
have recourse to that weapon. 

" And as both these ends are innocent, so the latter is highly 
commendable. With regard to the former, I demand, whether I 
have not as good a title to laugh, as men have to be ridiculous ; and 
to expose vice, as another has to be vicious. If I ridicule the follies 
and corruptions of a court, a ministry, or a senate, are they not 
amply paid by pensions, titles, and power ; while I expect, and. 
desire no other reward, than that of laughing with a few friends in 
a corner? Yet, if those who take offence, think me in the wrong, I 
am ready to change the scene with them, whenever they please.** 

These sentences are entitled to praise. The expression 
is pointed, and the arrangement accurate. 

" But, if my design be to make mankind better, then I think it 
is my duty; at least I am sure it is the interest of those very courts 
and ministers, whose follies or vices I ridicule, to reward my good 
intentions; for if it be reckoned a high point of wisdom to get the 
laughers on our side, it is much more easy, as well as wise, to get 
those on our side, who can make millions laugh when they please. ^ 

"My 



£34 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

" My reason for mentioning courts, and ministers (whom I never 
tliink on/ but with the most profound veneration) is, because an 
opinion obtains, that in the Beggarh Operuy there appears to be 
some reflection upon courtiers and statesmen, whereof I am by no 
means a judge." 

One would suppose that, in the last of these periods, 
the author intends to say, that he was no judge of 
courtiers and statesmen : whereas his real meaning 
must be that he cannot judge concerning the circum- 
stance of this opera's containing reflections upon those 
personages. The period might be improved thus : 
** An opinion obtains, that in the Beggar's Opera ^ 
thepe appears to be some reflection upon courtiers and 
statesmen ; a circumstance of which I am by no means 
a judge. 

" It is true, indeed, that Mr. Gay, the author of this piece, hath 
teen somewhat singular in the course of his fortunes ; for it hath 
happened, that after fourteen years attending the court, with a 
iarge stock of real merit, a modest and agreeable conversation, a 
hundred promises, and five hundred friends, liath failed of prefer- 
ment; and upon a very weighty reason." 

j^fter fourteen years attending the court, — It is more 
proper to say, after fourteen years' attendance at courts 
or, after attending the court for fourteen years^^By a 
typographical error, the pronoun he seems to have 
been omitted before the words hath failed,^ -Upon a 
weighty reason, is an unusual expression. We com- 
monly say, for a weighty reason* 

" He lay under the suspicion of having written a libel or lampoon 
.against a great minister. It is true, that great minister was demon- 
stratively convinced, and publicly owned his conviction, that Mr. 
Gay was not the author j but having lain under the suspicion, it 
seemed very just that he shoufd suffer the punishment j because in 

thia 



A PASSAGE ©F SWll'T, £35 

this most rerormed age, the virtues of a prime minister are no more 
to be suspected, than the chastity of Caesar's wife." 

The last sentence is somewhat ambiguous. The con* 
struction might leave room to suppose that the prime 
minister had lain under suspicion of having written a 
libel or lampoon against himself. The ambiguity may 
easily be removed : " But this poet having lain under 
the suspicion.'* 

" It must be allowed that the Beggar's Opera is not the first of 
Mr. Gay's Avorks, wherein he hath been faulty, with regard to 
courtiers and statesmen. For to omit his other pieces'; even in his 
Fables, published within two years past, and dedicated to the duke 
of Cumberland, for which he was promised a reward, he hath been 
thought somewhat too bold upon the courtiers." 

The latter of these sentences is rendered harsh and 
clumsy by the concourse of so many circumstances;, 
published within two years past — dedicated to the duke of 
Cumberland— for which he was promised a reward, 

" And although it be highly probable, he meant only the courtiers 
of former times, yet he acted unwarily, by not considering, that the 
malignity of some people might misinterpret what he said, to the 
disadvantage of present persons and affairs." 

The contrast contained in this sentence would be more 
emphaticall}^ exprest in the following manner : " And 
although it be highly probable, he meant only the 
courtiers of former timesy yet he acted unwarily, by 
not considering, that the malignity of some people 
might misinterpret what he said, to the disadvantage 
of those of the present times,** 

" But 1 have now done with Mr. Gay as a politician j and shall 
consider him henceforward only as author of the Beggar's Opera, 
wkerein he hath by a turn of humour, entirely new, placed vices of 

all 



^S6 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

all kinds in the strongest and most odious light; and thereby, done 
eminent service, both to religion and morality." 

The position of the adverb onl^ leaves us uncertain 
whether it be intended to qualify what precedes or 
what follows. Better thus: *> But I have now done 
with Mr. Gay as a poHtician ; and henceforward shall 
only consider him as author of the Beggar^ s OperaJ* 
Here the sentence might very properly have been 
closed ; and the succeeding one might have commenced 
thus: ^' In this performance he hath by a turn of hu- 
mour," &c. 

" This appears from the unparalleled success he hath met with. 
All ranks, parties, and denominations of men either crowding to see 
his Opera, or reading it with delight in their closets ; even ministers 
of state, whom he is supposed to have most offended (next to those 
whom the actors represent) appearing frequently at the theatre, 
from a consciousness of their own innocence, and to convince the 
world how unjust a parallel, malice, envy, and dissatisfaction to the 
government have made." 

At the beginning of this quotation the pronoun this re^ 
fers not to any particular word that has formerly occur- 
red, but to the general tenor of the foregoing sentence. 
This practice is not consistent with complete accuracy 
of style. — After the words he hath met with, there ought 
only to have been a semicolon ; in its present state the 
succeeding sentence has a mutilated appearance. The 
corresponding words ministers of state , and appearing ^ 
stand at too great distance from each other. 

*' I am assured that several worthy clergymen in this city, went 
privately to see the Beggar s Opera represented ; and that tlie 
fleering coxcombs in the pit, amused themselves with making disco- 
veries, and spreading the names of those gentlemen round the au- 
dience." 

This sentence is smooth and correct. 

« I shall 



A PASSAGE OF SWIFT. 237 

" I shall not pretend to vindicate a clerj^yman, who would appear 
©penly- in his habit at a theatre, with such a vicious crew, as might 
probably stand round him, at such comedies, and profane tragedies 
as are often represented. Bebides, I know very well, that persons of 
their function are bound to avoid the appearance of evil, or of giving 
cause of offence." 

The latter of these periods discovers a confusion of 
ideas. The author speaks of avoiding the appearance 
of giving cause of offence. Now in the case which is 
here alkided to, it is only by appearances that offence 
can be given : it would therefore have been as proper 
to have spoken of the appearance of the offence. 

*• But when the lords chancellore, who are keepers of the king's 
conscience; when judges of the land, whose title is reverend; when 
ladies, who are bound by the rules of their sex to the strictest de- 
cency, appear in the theatre without censure ; I cannot understand, 
why a young clergyman, who comes concealed, out of cariosity to 
see an innocent and moral play, should be so highly condemned: 
nor do I much approve the rigour of a great prelate, who said, he 
hoped none of his clergy were there." 

In the expression, a young clergyman who comes con- 
cealedf out of curiosity, there is some degree of ambi- 
guity. It seems rather to imply that he is concealed 
out of curiosity, than that he visits the theatre out of 
curiosity. The following arrangement is more correct : 
*• I cannot understand, why a young clergyman who, 
out of curiosity, comes concealed to see an innocent 
and moral play, should be so highly condemned.'' 

*' I am glad to hear there are no weightier objections against that 
reverend body planted in this city, and I wish there never may. 
But I should be very sorry, that any of them should be so weak, as 
Co imitate a court-chaplain in England, who preached against tlie 

Beggars 



^3S CRITICAL EXAMINATION ©F 

Beggars Opera; which will probably do more good, than a thousand 
sermons of so stupid, so injudicious, and so prostitute a divine.*" 
The metaphor contained in the first of these sentences, 
seems liable to objection. The author speaks of a body 
j^Ianted m the city of Dublin. Perhaps the other pe- 
rfod is somewhat deficient in unity. The last clause of 
it might have formed a separate sentence ; " This pro» 
duction will probably do more good," &c. 



CHAR XXIX. 

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF A PASSAGE IK 
THE WRITINGS OF HARRIS. 

" T^r^W ^^^ language of these Greeks was truly like themsehef, 
•*-^ 'twas conformable to their transcendent and universal 
genius. Where matter so abounded, words followed of course, and 
those exquisite in every kind, as the ideas for which they stood. 
And hence it followed, there was not a subject to be found, which, 
could not with propriety be exprest in Greek.'' 

The first of these sentences might be improved by the 
omission of the words printed in Italic characters. — Mr. 
Harris seems to have had a particular affection for 
contractions. That he should alwa3's prefer 'tis to it 
is, Uwas to it was, "'twere to it were, appears somewhat 
surprising. This practice certainly cannot encrease 
the smoothness or harmony of his periods. But as the 
Greek language abounds in contractions, he probably 

* Intelligencer, No. 3. 

thouojht 



A PASSAGE OF HARRIS. ^$9 

thought that by imitating it in this respect he might 
contribute to the improvement of his native tongue. 
"To many readers the second sentence will have the 
appearance of being stiff and quaint. The manner in 
which the conjunction as is there used, is accompanied 
with solne ambiguity. The sense may either be. '' that 
the words possess the same degree of exquisiteness 
with the ideas for which they stood ;" or *« that the 
words were exquisite as well as the ideas." If the 
latter was the author's meaning, the period may be 
cleared of all ambiguity by substituting like instead 
of as. 

" Here were words and numbers for the humour of Aristophanes; 
for the native elegance of a Philemon or Menander ; for the amorous 
strains of a Mimnerraus or Sappho; for the rural lays of a Theo- 
critus or Bion ; and for the sublime conceptions of a Sophocles or 
Homer. The same in prose." 

Hei^e were is a phrase which perhaps approaches too 
near vulgar or colloquial language. In other respects 
the period is elegant and sonorous. The English lan- 
guage does not readily admit of such elliptical phra- 
seology as appears in the latter of these sentences. 

" Here Socrates was enabled to display his art, in all the accuracy 
of periods, and the nice counterpoise of diction. Here Demosthenes 
found materials for that nervous composition, that manly force of 
unaffected eloquence, which rushed, like a torrent, too impetuous to 
be withstood." 

This passage is not destitute of beauty. The expres- 
sions in the first sentence seem peculiarly happy. 

** Who were more different in exhibiting their philosophy, than 
Xenophon, Plato, and his disciple Aristotle? Different, I say, in 
their chai'acter of composition ; for as to their philosbphy itself, 
'twas in reality the samet Aristotle, strict, methodic, and orderly; 

subtle- 



^40 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

subtle in thought; sparing in ornament; with little address to the 
passions or imagination; but exhibiting the whole with such a preg- 
nant brevity that in every sentence we seem to read a page." 

Different, Isaj/^m their character of composition. This 
is a very unusual and a very awkward method of be- 
guining a sentence. In constructing the last of these 
periods, the author seems to have forgotten that he was 
writing-English. Such a construction is foreign to the. 
nature- of our language^ whatever it may be .with regard 
to those of Greece and Rome. Th6 whole passage 
discovers marks of affectation. 

" How exquisitely is this all performed in Greek !" 
The propriety of this sentence would not be diminished 
by a slight change in the collocation of the words: 
'/ How exquisitely is ail this performed in Greek!" 

" Let those, who imagine that it may be done as well iri another 
language, satisfy themselves either by attempting to translate him, 
or hv perusing his translations already made by men of learning. 
On the contrary, when we read either Xenophon or Plato, nothing 
of this method and strict order appears. The formal and didactic 
is wholly dropt." 

Jlis translations is an ambiguous phrase: instead of 
denoting what the sense of the passage requires, it may 
signify translations executed by Aristotle. The trans- 
lations. already madcy would have expressed the au- 
thor's meaning with sufficient accuracy. 

" Whatever they may teach, 'tis without professing to be teachers ; 
a train of dialogue and truly polite address, in which, as in a mirror, 
we behold human life, adorned in all its colours of sentiment and 
manners." 

To render the sense of this passage complete, the 
reader must, at the beginning of the second clause, 

supply 



A PASSAGE OF HARRIS. 241 

supply some phrase equivalent to the following: 
*' Their writings exhibit a train," &c. As the sentence 
now stands, it is loose and disjointed. 

■" And yet, though these differ in this manner from the Stagirite, 
how different are they likewise in character from each other? Plato, 
copious, figurative, and majestic; intermixing at times the facetious 
and satiric ; enriching his works with tales and fabies, and the mys- 
tic theology of ancient times. Xenophon, the pattern of perfect 
simplicity; every whtre smooth, harmonious, and pure; declininf 
the figurative, the mai\ellous, and the mystic; ascending but rarely 
into the sublime; nor then so much trusting to the colours of style, as 
to the intrinsic dignity olTthe sentiment itself." 

Of these sentences, the two last are deficient in idio- 
matical propriety from the omission of the substantive 
verb. This is a piece of affectation of which Mr. Har- 
ris is very frequently guilty. — The word itself, which 
occurs at the close of the last period, is redundant: 
without contributing to the sense, it tends to injure the 
sound. 

" The language, in the mean time, in which he and Plato wrote, 
appears to suit so accurately with the style of both, that when we 
read either of the two, we cannot help thinking, that 'tis he alone, . 
who has hit its character, and that it could not have appeared so 
elegant in any other manner." 

This is a very expressive sentence. It is not however 
unexceptionable: in the mean time \s m this instance 
an idle unmeaning phrase, similar to what many of the 
Greek particles appear to unenlightened moderns. 

** And thus is the Greek tongue, from its propriety and universa- 
lity, made for all that is great, and all that is beautiful, in every sub- 
ject, and under every form of writing. 

Graiis ingenium, Graiisdedit ore rotundo 

Musa loqui." 

2 A tongue 



242 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

A tongue made for all that is great has no very dignified 
sound. The sentence might, I think, b® improved by 
substituting^^/£:fi? instead of made. 

'* 'Twere to be wished, that those amongst us, who either write or 
read, with a view to employ their liberal leisure (for as to such as do 
cither from views more sordid, we leave them, like slaves, to their 
destined drudgery) 'twere to be wished, I say, that the liberal (if 
they have a relish for letters) would inspect the finished models of 
Grecian literature] that they would not waste those hours which 
they cannot recal, upon the meaner productions pf the French and 
English press; upon that fungous growth of novels and pamphlets, 
where 'tis to be feared, they rarely find an/ rational pleasure, and 
more rarely still, any solid enjoyment." 

^Tw£re to be wished that the author had constructed this 
ioHg sentence with a more skilful hand. Instead of ar- 
ranging it with more luminous propriety, he has had 
recourse to the expedient of introducing parentheses, 
and the contemptible little phrase / say. The period 
is thus rendered confused and in-artificial. Towards 
the close of it, however, the cadence is agreeable to 
the ear< 

" To be competently skilled in anci<ent learning, is by no means a 
work of such insuperable pains. The very progress itself is attended 
with delight, and resembles a journey through some pleasant coun- 
try, where every mile we advance, new charms arise. 'Tis certainly 
as easy to be a scholar, as a gamester, or maoy other characters 
«qually illiberal and low," 

The very progress itself— In a phrase of this kind it ap- 
pears superfluous to use both very and itself Either 
of them would have been sufficient. The cadence of 
the words new charms arise approaches too nearly to 
that of poetry. The language of prose and the lan- 
guage of verse ought always to be kept distinct. To 
1 this 



A PASSAGE OF HARRIS. 243 

this rule some of our writers do not appear to have paid 
proper attention. In the prose compositions of Lord 
Shaftesbury and Mr. Hervey, for example, we often 
find regular and sonorous verses. It is easy to be' a 
character has an uncouth sound. The author might 
certainly have expressed himself with greater pro- 
priety. 

" The same application, the same quantity of habit will fit us for 
on'e, as completely as for the otlier. And as to those who tell us, 
with an air of seeming wisdom, that 'tis men, and not books we must 
study to become knowing; tins I have always remarked from re- 
peated experience, to be the common consolation and language of 
dunces." 

The second sentence is not altogether correct: the 
conclusion of it does not bear a proper and legitimate 
reference to the beginning. When we meet with the 
words as to those who tell us, we are led to expect that 
tlie author's succeeding observation will apply imme- 
diately to those persons themselves; whereas it only 
applies to the language to which they have recourse for 
consolation. A few alterations may be suggested: 
'* As to the observation which has so frequently been 
made with an air of seeming wisdom, that it is men, 
and not books that we ought to study in order to ac- • 
quire useful knowledge; this I have always remarked 
from repeated experience to be the common consola-- 
tion of dunces." 

" They shelter their ignorance under a, few bright examples, 
whose transcendent abilities, without the common helps, have beeu 
sufficient of themselves to great and important ends. But alas ! 

Decipit exemplar vitiis imitabile." 
In the expression abilities sufficient to great and important 
M ends, 



S4'4, CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

.€nds^ there is something a,wkward. The sentence ap- 
pears susceptible of improvement : *^ They shelter their 
ignorance under the bright e^sample of a few indivi- 
duals whose transcendent abilities, without the common 
helps, have been adequste to great and important un- 
dertakings.^* 

" In trutl^ each man's understanding, when ripened and mature, 
"is a composite of natural capacity, and of superinduced habit." 

This apphcation of composite favours of pedantry : why 
-it is preferred to compositioUy is not altogether obvious ; 
for the latter is certainly a more sonorous word. No 
other writer, so far as my information serves me, has 
ever used cotnpcsite as a noun substantive. It is an ad- 
jective that is only used in treating of architecture. 
*^ Some are of opinion," says Mr. xlddison *^ that the 
-cGmposite pillars of this arch were made in imitation of 
the pillars of Solomon's temple." 

" Hence the greatest men will be necessarily those, who possess 
the best capacities, cultivated with the best habits. Hence also mo- 
derate capacities, when adorned with valuable science, will far tran- 
scend others the most acute by nature, when either neglected, or 
applied to low and base purposes. And thus for the honour of cul- 
ture and good learning, they are able to render a man, if lie will take 
the pains, intrinsically more excellent than his natural superior." 

Avd thus for the honour aJid culture of good learning — 
This expression appears somewhat antiquated, Jf he 
win take the pains, is a phrase ^vdiich may justly b« 
charged with vulgarity. 

"And S) ir.uch at present as to general ideas; how we acquire 
tlum; whence they are derived; what is their nature; and what 
their connection with language. So much likewise as to the subject 
oflhis treatise, Universal Grammar."* 

* Harris's Hermes, book iii. chap. v. 

This- 



A PASSAGE of ROBERTSON. 245 

This is a conclusion truly Grecian. I have sometimes 
been surprized that Mr. Harris did not commence his 
treatise in the same antique mode. He might, for exam- 
ple, have begun in this manner : '^ James Harris wroie 
the following discourse concerning the principles of 
universal oxanimar."* 



CHAP. XXX. 

CRITrCAL EXAMINATION" OF A PASSAO£ IN 
THE WRITINGS OF ROBERTSON. 

♦^ '^TTHILE these sentiments prevailed among her subjects, 
' '^ -Elizabeth thought slie might safely venture to strike the 
ijlow, which she had so long meditated. She commanded Davison, 
one of the secretaries of state, to bring to her tlie fatal warranty and 
her behaviour, on tliat occasion, plainly shewed that it is not to hii- 
jnanity that we raust-ascribe her forbearance hitherto.^ 

The latter of these sentences is not constructed with 
the usual skill of this beautiful writer : the conclusion 
xaf it is by no means graeeful. 

" At tbe very Ejoment she was subscribing tbe writ which gave 
up a woman, a queen, and her own nearest relation, into the hands 
of the executioner, she was capable of jesting. * Go,' says she to 
-Davison, * and tell Wakingham what I have now don«, though I 
.^ra afraid he will die for grief when he hears it/ Her chi^f anxiety 
-was how to secure the advantages which would arise from Mary^s 

* The most ancient philosophical treatise now extant begins 
nearly in the above manner. ** Ta ^s crvi/By^a,-^ey ''^xB^Xog' 5 
Asiy.«.w<; -zsTE^J t?? Ttf 7r«vT«; ^tVgcyS'"'— Ocellus de Unive7'si 
Natura. 

death. 



245 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

death, without appearing to have given her consent to a deed so 
infamous." 

In this passage every thing is accurate and luminous. 

" She often hinted to Paulet and Drury, as well as to some other 
courtiers, that now was the time to discover the sincerity of their 
concern for her safety, and that she expected their zeal would extri- 
cate her out of her present perplexity." 

The phrase now was the time appears to be somewhat 
deficient in dignity. The author might have expressed 
himself thus : ^' She often hinted to Paulet and Drury, 
as well as to some other courtiers, that an opportunity 
now occurred for discovering the sincerity of their 
concern for her safet}^" 

** But they were wise enough to seem not to understand her 
meaning." 

A sentence that must thus include an affirmative and a 
negative, can never possess much elegance. 

" Even after the warrant was signed, she commanded a letter to 
be written to Paulet, in less ambiguous terms; complaining of his - 
remissness in sparing so long the life of her capital enemy, and 
begging him to remember at last what was incumbent on him as an 
affectionate subject, and to deliver his Sovereign from continual fear 
and danger, by shortening the days of his prisoner. Paulet, though 
rigorous and harsh, and often brutal in the discjiarge of what he 
thought his duty, as Mary's keeper, was nevertheless a man of 
honour and integrity," 

This passage does not seem to require any particular 
animadversion. 

" He rejected the proposal with disdain; and lamenting that he 
should ever have been deemed capable of acting the part of an 
assassin, he declared that the queen might dispose of his life at her 
pleasure, but he would never stain his own honour, nor leave an 
everlasting mark of infamy on his posterity, by lending his hand to 
perpetrate so foul a crime." 



A PASSAGE OF ROBERTSON. 24? 

B}j lending his hand, is a phrase which appears unsuit- 
able to the dignity of historical conaposition. 

" On the receipt of this answer, Elizabeth became extremely 
peevish; and calling him a dainty and precise fellow, who would 
promise much, but perforin nothing, she proposed to employ one 
Wingfield, who had both courage and inclination to strike the blow.'' 

The queen's calhng Paulet a dainty and precise fellow, 
has little connection with her proposing^ to have re- 
course to the assistance of Wingfield. The author's 
meaning might have been diffused into two distinct 
periods : ** On the receipt of this answer, Elizabeth 
became extremely peevish, and called him a dainty 
and precise fellow, who would promise much, but per- 
form nothing. She jiext proposed to employ one 
Wingfield, who had both courage and inclination to 
strike the blow." 

" But Davison remonstrating against this method, as no less dan- 
gerous than dishonourable, she again declared her intention that the 
sentence pronounced by the commissioners should be executed ac- 
cording to law; and as she had already signed the warrant, she 
begged that no farther application might be made to her on that 
head. By this the privy counsellors thought themselves sufficiently 
authorised to proceed; and prompted, as they pretended, by zeal for 
the queen's safety, or instigated, as is more probable, by the appre- 
hension of the danger to which they would themselves be exposed, 
if the life of the queen of Scots were spared, they assembled in the 
council chamber, and by a letter under all their hands, empowered 
the earls of Shrewsbury and Kent, together with the high Sheriff of 
the county, to see the sentence put in execution." 

In the last sentence the repetition of the word queen 
might without much difficulty have been avoiJed. 

" On Tuesday the seventh of February, the two earls arrived at 
Fotheringay, and demanding access to the queen, read in her pre- 
sence 



248 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

sence the warrant for execution, and required her to prepare to die 
next morning." 

We again meet Avith the word qu^en in this period^ 
though it occurs twice in the last. Executmi closes 
the foraier sentenee ; yet it is also found to occupy an 
important place in this. These, it must be confessed, 
are errors of a very trivial kind ; but if they are errors, 
an author should endeavour to avoid them. If however 
they cannot be removed without weakening the ex- 
pression, they ought beyond all doubt to be retained. 

" Mary heard them to the end without emotion; and crossing 
herself in tiie name of the Father^ and of the Son, and of the Ploly 
Ghost. 'That sou!/ said she, * is not worthy of the joys of heaven, 
■which repines because the body must endure the stroke of the exe- 
cutioner: and althougli I did not txpect that the queen of England 
would set the first example of violating the sacred person of a sove- 
reign prince, I wiUingly submit to that which Providance has decreed 
to be my [ol.'" 

The author might have said, in the name of the Father ^ 
Son, avd Hoh/ Ghost ; but the expression which he has 
adopted, produces a much better effect. 

** And laying her hand on a Bible, which happened to be near 
her, she solemnly protested that she was innocent of that conspiracy 
which Babington liad carried on against Elizabeth's life. She then 
mentioned the requests contained in her letter to Elizabeth, but ob- 
tained no satisfactory answer. She entreated with particular ear- 
nestness, that now in her last moments, her almoner might be suf- 
fered to attend her, and that she might enjoy the consolati/)n of 
those pious institutions prescribed ty her religion. Even this favour, 
which is usually granted to the vilest criminal, was absolutely de- 
nied." 

The third of these sentences possesses considerable 

beauty. 

** Her attendants, during this conversation, were bathed in tears, 
^ and 



A PASSAGE OF ROBERTSON. 24^ 

'4^d though overawed by the presence of the two earls, with difficulty 
suppressed]their anguish; but no sooner did Kent and Shrewsbury 
withdraw, than they ran to tfieir mistress, and burst out into the 
most passionate expressions of tenden-^ess and sorrow."^ 
At the commencement of this period, the more natural 
order of the Avords ought perhaps to have been fol- 
lowed : During this conversation, her attendants were 
bathed in tears.'* This seems in every respect pre- 
ferable to the other mode of arrangement. 

**'Mary, however, not only retained perfect composure of n>ind^ 
but endeavoured to moderate their excessive grief. And falling oii 
her ki^ees, with all her domestics round her, she thanked Heaven 
that her sufferings were now so near an end ; and prayed that she 
might be enabled to endure what still remained with decency and, 
with fortitude. The greater part of the evening sltej^employed in 
settling her worldly affairs. She wrote her testament with her own 
feand. Her money, her jewels, and her cloaths, she distnbuted 
among her servants^ according to their rank or merit. She wrote a 
short letter to the king of France, and another to the duke of Guise, 
full of tender but magnanimous sentiments, and recommended her 
soul to their prayers, and her afilicted servants to their protection. 
At supper, she eat temperately, as usual, and conversed not only 
with ease, but with chearfulness ; sl>e drank to every one of her 
servants, and asked their forgiveness, if ever she had failed in any 
part of her duty towards them. At her wonted time she- went to 
bed, and slept calmly a few liours. Early in the morning she retired 
to her closet, and employed a considerable time in devotion. At 
eight o'clock, the high sheriff and his officers entered her chamber, 
and found her still kneeling at the altar. She immediately started 
up, and with a majestic mien, and a countenance undismayed and 
even chearful, advanced towards the place of execution, leaning on 
two of Paulet's attendants. She was dressed in a m.ourning habit, 
but with an elegance and splendor, which she had long laid aside, 
except on a few festival days. An Agnus Dei hung by a pomander 
chain at her neck; her beads at her girdle; and in her hand she 
carried a crucifix of ivory/' 

In 



/ 

5^50 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

In this passage it Avould perhaps be impossible to im- 
prove a single sentence, either by substituting n'ew 
words, or by altering the arrangement : every thing is 
distinct, accurate, and elegant. 

" At the bottom of the stairs, the two earls, attended by several 
gentlemen from the neighbouring counties, received her: and there 
Sir Andrew Melvil, the master of her household, who had been 
secluded for some vi^eeks from her presence, v\'as permitted to take 
his last farewell. At the sight of a mistress whom he tenderly loved, 
in such a situation, he melted into tears; and as he was bewailing 
iier condition, and complaining of his own hard fate in being ap- 
pointed to carry the account of such a mournful event into Scotland, 
Ivlary replied, * Weep not, good Melvil; there is at present greater 
cause for rejoicing. Thou shalt this day see Mary Stewart delivered 
from all her cares, and such an end put to her tedious sufferings, as 
she has lon;^ expected. Bear witness that I die constant in my 
religion ; firm in my fidelity towards Scotland ; and unchanged in 
my affection to France, Commend me to my son. Tell him I have 
done nothing injurious to his kingdom, to his honour, or to Ids 
rights; and God forgive all those who have thirsted, without cause, 
for my blood.' *' 

■ At the sight of a mistress whom he tenderly loved, in 
such a situation, he melted into tears. The author's 
meaning is, ^' That he melted into tears on beholding 
his beloved mistress in such a situation :" but the man- 
ner in which he has expressed himself is somewhat am- 
biguous. 

The beautiful passage which we have been consider- 
ing in the course of this chapter is rendered more cap- 
tivating by means of those dramatic touches with which 
it is interspersed. It is not to be supposed that any of 
these short speeches was originally delivered in the 
identical words which are here adopted by the historian 
All that can reasonably be required is, that he expresh- 

tbf; 



A PASSAGE OF ROBERTSON". £51 

the very same sentiment. An ingenious writer, how- 
ever, dehvers a different opinion with regard to this 
subject. *• An excess of polish and refinement/' savs 
Dr. Ferriar, " among other inconveniences, tempts the 
historian to suppress or vary the strong original ex- 
pressions, which trying occasions extort from men of 
genius. Yet these, infinitely superior to phrases which 
have cooled in the critical balance, always form the 
brightest ornaments of a well-composed history. They 
transport our imagination to the scene, domesticate us 
with eminent men, and afford us a kind of temporary 
existence in other ages. Few of our writers, except- 
ing Lloyd, have attended sufficiently to the preserva- 
tion of these flashes of sentiment and intelligence. A 
single word sometimes conveys as much information of 
character and principles, as a whole dissertation." * 
These observations are certainly just : but how is it 
possible to ascertain whether in every instance such 
expressions have actually been used by the persons to 
whom the}^ are attributed ? We even find that in re* 
porting the expressions used on certain occasions by 
our Saviour, his disciples do not always completely 
coincide with each other. They express the same 
meaning, but in different words. If therefore a writer 
in our own times were to copy such expressions as are 
here alluded to from some ancient English chronolo- 
gist, he might happen to deviate almost as far from 
those originally uttered, as he could do by varying the 
phraseology according to his particular taste.. 

* Ferriar's Menippean Essay on English Historians. 

« Witk 



252 CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF 

** With much difficulty, and after many introalies, she prevailed oa 
the two earls tf) allow Melvil, together with three of her men ser- 
vants, and two of her maids, to attend her to the scaffold. It was 
erected in the same hail where she had been tried, raised a little 
above the floor, and covered, as well as a chair, the cushion, and 
block, with black cloth. Mary mounted the steps with alacrity, be- 
held all this apparatus of death with an unaltered countenance, and, 
signing herself with the cross, she sat down in the chair." 

In the last of these sentences the pronoun she appears 
superuflous. I should prefer the subsequent reading r 
'* Mary mounted the steps with alacrity : she beheld 
this apparatus of death with an unaltered countenance, 
and, signing herself with the cross, sat down in the 
chair/' 

* Beale read the warrant for execution with a loud voice, to 
wliich ghe listened with a careless air, and like one occupied in 
other thoughts. Then the dean of Peterborough began a devout 
discourse, suitable to her present condition, and offered up prayers 
to heaven in her behalf; but she declared that she could not i» 
conscience hearken to the one, norjoin with the other; and, falling on 
her knees, repeated a Latin prayer/' 

In the prose writings of modern English authors the 
adverb iJien is seldom placed at the beginning of a 
sentence. But in a description of this solemn kind it 
perhaps would not have such a good effect in any other 
position. The author might have said, '' The dean of 
Peterborough then began a devout discourse, suitable 
to her present condition /' but he has with propriety 
adopted a different mode of arrangement. The sen- 
tence does not close with much felicity : the last clause 
forms no due counterbalance to the one immediately 
preceding. 

*' When ihe dean had finished his devotions, she with an audible 

'^jpife', and in the English tongue, recommended unto God the af- 

1 ilicted 



A PASSAGE OF ROBERTSOI^f. ^253 

flicteJ state of the church, and prayed for prosperity to her son, and 
for a long life, and peaceable reign to Elizabeth. She declared rhat 
she hoped for mercy only through the death of Christ, at the foot of 
xvhose image she now willingly shed her blood; and lifting up and 
blessing the crucifix, she thus addressed : ' As thy arms, () Jesus, 
were extended on the cross; so with the outstretched arms of thy 
mercy, receive me, and forgive my sins.' " 
She declared thai she hoped for mercy only through the 
death of Christ, The position of the adverb only occa- 
sions some degree of ambiguity. Instead of conveying 
what is evidently the author's meaning, these words 
may imply, ** that through the death of Christ, she 
hoped for nothing besides mercy." This ambiguity, 
ho^yever, it would be difficult in the present instance 
to remove, except by adopting a quite different phrase- 
ology. Should we place the adverb after Christ, the 
sense would still be left ambiguous ; nor could the de- 
fect be remedied by placing it after death. She thus 
addressed. The verb address is very seldom used in a 
neuter sense, except in poetical compositions. 

" She then prepared for the block, by taking off her veil and 
upper garments; and one of the executioners rudely endeavouring 
to assist, she gently checked him, and said, with a smile, that she 
liad not been accQstomed to undress before so many spectators, nor 
to be served by such valets. With calm but undaunted fortitude, 
she laid her neck on the block; and while one executioner held her 
hands, the other at the second stroke, cut off her head, which falling 
out of its attire, discovered her hair already grown quits grey, with 
cares and sorrows. The executioner held it up still streaming with 
blood, and the dean crying out, " So perish all queen Elizabeth's 
enemies," the earl of Kent alone answered Amen. The rest of the 
spectators continued silent, and drowned in tears; being incapable 
at that moment, uf any other sentiments, but those of pity or admi- 
ration." * 

* His-tory of iScotland, book vii. 

This 



254 THE METHOD OF 

This passage forms a very proper conclusion to the 
beautiful narration which we have been enaployed in 
examinino:. 



CHAP. XXXI. 



OF THE METHOD OF ATTAINING A GOOD 
STYLE. 

/T^O pretend to teach the art of fine writing by a 
series of mechanical rules, would be highly ab- 
surd. The young student may, however, be assisted 
by a few plain directions concerning the proper me- 
thod of attaining a style correct and elegant. 

We must always endeavour to obtain a clear and 
precise idea of every subject of which we propose to 
treat. This is a direction which may at first appear to 
have little relation to style. Its relation to it, how- 
ever, is extremely close. The foundation of fine 
writing is good sense accompanied with a lively ima- 
gination. The style and thoughts of a wTiter are so 
intimately connected, that it is frequently a difficult 
task to distinguish Avhat depends upon the one, and 
what upon the other. Whenever the impressions of 
objects upon the mir^d are faint and indistinct, or per- 
plexed and confused, our style in treating of such ob- 
jects can never be luminous or. beautiful. Whereas, 
what we conceive clearly and feel strongly, we shall 
naturally express Avith clearness and with strength. 
2 This^ 



ATTAIXING A GOOD STYLE. Q55 

This, then, we may be assured, is an important rule, to 
think closely of the subject, till we have attained a full 
and distinct view of the matter which we are to clothe 
in words, till we become warm and interested in it: 
then, and not till then, shall we find expression begin 
to flow. Generally speaking, the best and most proper 
expressions are those which a clear view of the subject 
suggests, Afithout much labour or inquiry. 

To form a good style, the frequent practice of com- 
posing is indispensably necessary. Many rules con- 
cerning style have been delivered ; but no rules will 
answer the end without exercise and habit. At th© 
same time, it is not every mode of composing that will 
improve style. This is so far from being the case, that 
by careless and hasty composition, we shall inevitably 
acquire a very bad style ; we shall have more trouble 
afterwards in unlearning faults and correcting negli- 
gences, than if we had been totally unaccustomed to 
composition. At first, therefore, we ought to write 
slowly and with much care. Let the facility and speed 
of writing be the fruit of longer practice. 

*' I enjoin," says Quintilian, *' that such as are be- 
ginning the practice of composition, write slowly and 
with anxious deliberation. Their great object at first 
should be, to write as well as possible : practice will 
enable them to write speedily. By degrees, matter 
Avill offer itself still more readily ^ words will be at 
band; composition will flow; every thing, as in th© 
arrangement of a well ordered family, will present it- 
self in its proper place. The sum of the whole is this ; 
that by hasty composition, we shall never acquire the 

art 



S56 *rHE METHOD OF 

art of composing well ; by writing well^ we sliall come 
to write speedily."* 

We must not, however, be too anxious about words; 
we must not retard the course of thought, nor cool the 
heat of imagination, by pausing too long on every 
word which we employ. There is, on certain occa- 
sions, a glow of composition which should be kept up, 
if we hope to express ourselves happily, though at the 
expense of allowing some inadvertencies to pass. These 
must afterwards be scrutinized with a critical e3^e. If 
the practice of composition be useful, the laborious 
work of correcting is no iess so ; it is absolutely neces- 
sary to our reaping any benefit from the habit of com- 
posing. What we have written, should be laid aside 
till the ardour of composition be past^, till our fondness 
for the expressions which we have used, be worn off, 
and the expressions themselves be forgotten. By re- 
viewing our work Avith a cool and critical eye, as if it 
were the performance of another, we shall discern 
many imperfections which at first escaped our obser- 
vation. It is then the season for pruning redundan- 
cies ; for examining the arrangement of sentences ; 
and for bringing style into a regular, correct, and sup- 
ported form. To this labour of correction all those 
must submit who would communicate their thoughts 
to others with proper advantage ; and some practice in 
it will soon sharpen the eye to the most ^jecessary ob- 
jects of attention, and render the task much more 
easy and practicable- than might ai first be imagined. 



Quintiliaa. de Institut. Orator, lib^^x, cap.iii, 

Wit}^ 



ATTAIXING A GOOD STYLE. ^57 

With respect to the assistance which is to be derived 
from the writings of others, it is obvious that we ought 
to render ourselves well acquainted with the stvie of 
the best autliors. This is requisite both to form a just 
taste in style, and to supply us with a full stock of 
words on every subject. 

But we must beware of falling into a servile imita- 
tion of any author whatsoever. Imitation is always 
dangerous. It fetters genius, and is likely to produce 
a stiff manner. Those who are addicted to close imi;i? 
tation, generally imitate an authors faults as well as 
bis beauties. No man will ever become a good writer 
or speaker, who has not some degree of confidence to 
follow his own genius. We ought to beware, in par- 
ticular, of adopting any author's noted phrases, or 
transcribing passages from him. Such a habit will 
prove fatal to all genuine composition. It is much 
better to have something that is our own, though of 
moderate beauty, than to affect to shine in borrowed 
ornaments, which will at last betray the utter povert^r 
of our genius. A preposterous ambitien to imitate or 
rival the characteristic manner of Dr. Johnson or Mr. 
Gibbon, has rendered many authors ridiculous who 
might other v.'ise have supported a respectable charac- 
ter. The style of each of these writers, eminent as 
they deservedly are, exhibits numerous faults : but 
whatever may be its beauties, no man of letters will 
ever obtain much distinction by imitating them with 
accurate servility. We generally find their deformi- 
ties more faithfully copied than their beauties. ]\Ir. 
George Chalmers, an author utterly destitute cf taste, 

learning. 



$58 METHOD OF ATTAINING A GOOD STYLEc 

learning, and ability,* seems to consider himself as the 
most formidable rival of Dr. Johnson ; and his life of 
Ruddiman, who deserved a very different biographer, 
is the most consummately ridiculous sample of imitation 
which belongs to any age or country. On these heads 
of composing, reading, and imitating, I would advise 
every student of oratory to consult what Quintilian has 
delivered in the tenth book of his Institutions; where 
he will find a variety of excellent observations and 
directions. 

Those who are ambitious of attaining a beautiful 
style, ought to study with attention the works of the 
most eminent poets. From this source is often derived 
a more delicate and elevated mode of expression, as 
well as of thinking. We find that the most excellent 
prose writers both of ancient and modern times are 
those who, during some part of their life, haye applied 
themselves to the study of poetry. It will be sufficient 
to mention the names of Plato, Cicero, Temple, Dry- 
den, Pope, Addison, Johnson, Goldsmith, Beattie, 
Fenelon, and Voltaire. 

It is an obvious but material rule, that we always 
study to adapt om* style to the subject, and also to the 
capacity of our hearers, if we are to speak in pwblic. 
Nothing merits the name of eminent or beautiful, 
which is not suited to the occasion, and to the persons 
to whom it is addressed. It is to the last degree awk- 
ward and absurd, to adopt a florid poetical style on 
occasions when it should be our sole business to argue 

* They hail thee master of a seven-fold skull, 
With learning stor*d; with various fanc^ full. 

and 



PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT, ScC. ^69 

and reason ; or to speak with elaborate pomp of ex- 
pression, before persons who comprehend nothing of it, 
and who can only stare at our unseasonable magnifi- 
cence. These are defects not so much in point of 
style, as, what is much worse, in point o^ coi.imon 
sense. When we begin to write or speak, we ought 
previously to have fixed in our minds a clear concep- 
tion of the end to which our chief attention is to be 
directed. This end we ought to keep steadily in 
view; and to it we ought to adapt our style. If we 
do not sacrifice to this great object every ill-timed or- 
»ament which may occur to. our fancy, we betray a 
want of judgment. 

I cannot conclude the subject without this obser- 
vation, that, in any case, and on any occasion, atten- 
tion to style must not engross us so much, as to detract 
from a higher degree of attention to the thoughts. To 
your expression be attentive j but about your matter 
be solicitous. 



EXAMPLES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE PROGEES- 
.SIVE IMPROVEMENT OF ENGLISH COMPO^ 
SITION. . 

SIDNEY. /^'^^ . /^S>6. ■ 

T ET learned Greece, in any of her manifest sciences, 
be able to shew me one book before Musaeus, Ho- 
mer, and Hesiod ; all three nothing else but poets. Nay, 
let any liistory be brought, that can say any wa'iters 

were 



^60 PROGRESSIVE IMPEOVEMENT 

were there before them, if they were not men of the 
same skil], as Orpheus, Linas, and some others are 
named, who having been the first of that country that 
made pens dehverers of their knowledge to posterity, 
may justly challenge to be called their fathers in learn- 
ing. For not only in time they had this priority (al- 
though in itself antiquity be venerable) but went before 
them, as causes to draw, with their charming sweetness-, 
the wild untamed wits to an admiration of knowledge. 
So as Amphion was said to move stones with his poetry 
to build Thebes, and Orpheus to be listened to by 
beasts, indeed stony arid beastly people : So among 
the Romans were Livius And ronicus, and Ennius: So 
in the Italian language, the first that made it to aspire 
to be a treasure-house of science, were the poets Dante, 
Boccace, and Petrarch : So in our English, were Gower^ 
and Chaucer; after whom, encouraged and delighted 
with their excellent foregoing, others have followed to 
beautify our mother- tongue, as well in the same kfnd,, 
as other arts. 

This did so notably shew itself, that the philosophers 
of Greece durst not a long time appear to the world, 
but under the mask of poets : So Thales, Empedo- 
cles, and Parmenides, sang their natural philosophy in 
verses : So did Pythagoras and Phocylides their moral 
counsels : So did Tyrtajus in war matters, and Solon in 
matters of policy ; or rather, they being poets, did ex- 
ercise their delightful vein in those points of highest 
knowledge, which before them lay hidden to the 
world : For that Solon was directly a poet, it is mani- 
fest, having written in verse the noble fable of the 
Atlantick Island^ which was continued by Plato, And 

truly 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION"- 26! 

truly even Plato whosoever well consideretb, shall find, 
that ill the body of his work, though the inside and 
strength were philosophy, the skin, as it were, and 
beauty, depended most of poetry. For all stands upon 
dialogues; wherein he feigns many honest burgesses of 
Athens speaking of such matters, that if they had been 
set on the rack, they w^ould never have confessed 
them : besides, his poetical describing the circum^ 
stances of their meetings, as the well-ordering of a 
banquet, the delicacy of a walk, and interlacing mere 
tales, as Gyges's Ring, and others ; which, who knows^ 
not to be flowers of poetry, did never walk in Apollo's 
garden. ^ Defence of Foesy^ 

RALEIGH. 

God, whom the wisest men acknowledge to be a 
power ineffable, and virtue infinite, a light by abundant 
charity invisible, an vmderstanding which itself caa 
only comprehend, an essence eternal and spiritual, 
of absolute pureness and simplicity, "was, and is pleased 
to make himself known by the w^ork of the world : in 
the w^onderful magnitude whereof, (all which he im- 
braceth, tilleth, and sustaineth) we behold the image of 
that glory, which cannot be measured, and withall that 
one, and yet universal nature, which cannot be defined. 
In the glorious lights of heaven, w^e perceive a shadow 
of his divine countenance; in his merciful provision 
for all that live, his manifold goodness ; and lastly^ ia 
creating and making existent the world universal, by 
the absolute art of his own word, his power and almigh- 
tiness; which power, light, virtue, wisdom, and good- 
ness; being all but attributes of ose simple essence, and 

of>e 



UG'Z PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

one God, we in all admire, and in part discern per 
speculum creaturarum, that is, in the disposition, order, 
and variety of celestial and terrestrial bodies ; terres- 
trial, in their strange and manifold diversities ; celestial, 
in their beauty and magnitude ; whicn in their conti- 
nual and contrary motions, are neither repugnant, in- 
termixed, nor confounded. By these potent effects, 
v.e approach to the knowledge of the omnipotent 
cause, and by these motions, their almighty mover. 

Jrlisiory of the WorlcL 

BACON. 

Revenge is a kind of wild justice ; which the more 
man's nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it 
out. For as to the first wrong, it doth but offend the 
law ; but the revenge of that Avrong putteth the law 
out of office. Certainly in taking revenge, a man is 
but even with his enemy ; but in passing it over he is 
superior : for it is a prince's part to pardon. And 
Solomon, I am sure, saith, ** It is the glory of a man to 
pass by an offence." That which is past, is gone, and 
irrecoverable : and wise men have enough to do with 
things present, and to come : therefore they do but 
trifle with themselves, that labour in past matters. 
There is no man doth a wrong for the wrong's sake, 
but thereby to purchase himself profit or pleasure, or 
honour, or the hke. Therefore why should 1 be angry 
with a man for loving himself better than me ? and if 
any man should do wrong merely out of ill nature, 
why ? yet it is but hke the thorn or bryar, which 
prick and scratch, because they can do no other. The 
most tolerable sort of revenge, is for those wrongs 

which 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITTOK. ^63 

which there is no law to remedy : But then let a man 
take heed, that the revenge be such as there is no Jaw 
to punish \ else a man's enemy is still before-hand, and 
it is two for one. Some when they take revenge, are 
desirous the party should know whence it cometh. 
This is the more generous: for the delight seemeth 
to be not so much in doing the hurt, as in making the 
party repent. But base and crafty cowards are like 
the arrow that flieth in the dark. Cosmus duke of 
Florence had a desperate saying against perfidious or 
neglecting friends, as if their wrongs were unpardon- 
able: "You shall read (saith'he) that we are com- 
manded to forgive our enemies ; but you never read 
that we are commanded to forgive our friends." But 
yet the spirit of Job was in a better tune : " Shall we 
(saith he) take good at God's hand, and not be content 
to take evil also?" And so .of friends in a proportion. 
This is certain, that a man thatstudieth revenc;e, keeps 
his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and 
do well. Publick revenges are for the most part fortu> 
nate, as that for the death of C£esar, for the death of 
Pertinax, for the death of Henry the third of France 
and many more. But in private revenges it is not so. 
Nay^ rather vindicative persons hve the life of Avitches • 
who as they are mischievous, so end they unfortunate. 
EssaijSy or Counsels, Civil and ^loraL 

JONSON. ' 

For a man to write well, there are required three 
necessaries; to read the best authors; observe the best 
speakers ; and much exercise of his own stile. In stile 
to considsr what ©ught to be written; and after what 

manner • 



264 TPROGRESSIVE IMFROVXMENT 

trianner : he must first think, and excogitate his maitter ; 
then choose his words, and exan:iine the weight of 
either. Then take care in placing, and ranking batti 
matter and words, that the composition be comely; 
and to do this with dihgence and often. No matter 
how slow the stile be at first, so it be laboured and ac- 
curate ; seek the best, and be not glad of the forward 
conceits, or first words, that offer themselves to us; 
but judge of what we invent, and order what we ap- 
prove. Repeat often what we have formerly written ; 
which, beside that it helps the consequence, and makes 
the juncture better, it quickens tlie heat of imagination, 
that often cools in the time of setting down, and gives 
it new strength, as if it grev/ lustier, by the going 
back. As we see in the contention of leaping, they 
jump farthest, that fetch their race largest: or, as in 
throwing a dart or javelin, we force back our arms, to 
make our loose the stronger. Yet, if we have a fair 
gale of wind, I forbid not the steering out of our sail, 
so the favour of the gale deceive us not. For all that 
we invent, doth please us in the conception or birth; 
else we should never set.it dov/n. But the safest is to 
return to our judgment, and handle over again those 
things, the easiness of ^yhich might make them justly 
suspected. So did tte best writers in their begin- 
■nino-s; they imposed upon themselves care and in- 
dustry. They did nothing rashly. They obtained 
first to write well, and then qustom made it easy and a 
habit. By little and little, their matter shewed itself 
to them more plentifully ; their words answered, their 
composition followed ; and all, as in a w^ell-ordered 
isLmily, preseated itself in the place. So that the sum 

of 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 26o 

of all is ; ready writing makes not good writing ; but 
good writing brings on ready writing j yet when we 
tliink we have got the faculty, it is even then good to 
resist it ; as to give a horse a check sometimes with a 
bit, v.'hich doth not so much stop his course, as stir his 
mettle. Discoveries.* 

HOOKER. 

They of whom God is altogether unapprehended, 
are but few in number, and for grossness of parts such, 
that they hardly and scarcely seem to hold the place of 
human beings. These we should judge to be of all 
others most miserable, but a wretcheder sort there are, 
on whom whereas nature hath bestowed riper capacity, 
their evil disposition seriously goeth about therewith 
to apprehend God, as being not God. Whereby it 
Cometh to pass, that of these two sorts of men, both 
godless, the one having utterly no knowledge of God, 
.the other study how to persuade themselves that there 
is no such thing to be known. The fountain and well- 
spring of which impiety is a resolved purpose of mind 
to reap in this world what sensual profit or pleasure so- 
ever the world yieldeth, and not to be barred from any 
whatsoever means available thereunto. And that that 
is the very radical cause of their atheism, no man 
(I think) will doubt, which considereth what pains they 
take to destroy those principal spurs and motives unto 
all virtue, the creation of the world, the providence of 



* The reader will meet with few discoveries in the passage now 
quoted : several of the observations contained in it are borrowed 
from Quintilian. 

God, 



^66 PROGRESSIVE iMlVROVEMENt 

God, the resurrection of the dead, the joys of theking-^ 
dom^of heaven, and the endless pains of the wick eci, 
yea above all things, the authority of the Scripture, 
because on these points it evermore beareth, and the 
soul's immortality, which granted, draweth easily after 
it the rest, as a voluntary train. Is it not wonderful, 
that base desires should so extinguish in men the sense 
of their own excellenc}', as to make them willing that 
their souls should be like to the souls of beasts, mor- 
tal and corruptible with their bodies ? Till some admi- 
rable or unusual accident happen (as it hath in some) 
to work the beginning of a better alteration in their 
minds, disputation about the knowledge of God with 
such kind of persons commonly prevaileth little. For 
how should the brightness of wisdom shine, where the 
windows of the soul are of very set purpose closed ? 
True religion hath many things in it, the only men- 
tion whereof gauleth and troubleth their minds. Being 
therefore loth that enquiry into such matters should 
breed a persuasion in the end contrary to that they 
embrace, it is their endeavour to banish, as much as in 
them lieth, quite and clean from their cogitation what- 
soever may sound that way. But it cometh many times 
to pass (which is their torment) that the thing they 
shun doth follow them ; truth, as it were, even obtru- 
ding itself into their knowledge, and not permitting 
them' to be so ignorant as they would be. Whereupon, 
in as much as the nature of man is unwilling to continue 
doing that wherein it shall always condemn itself^ they 
continuing still obstinate to follow the course which 
they iiave begun, are driven to devise all the shifts that 
wit can invent for the smothering of this light, all that 

may 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION' ^67 

may uith any but the least shew of possibility stay their 
minds from thinking that true, which they heartily wish 
were false, but cannot think it so, without some scru- 
ple and fear of the contrary. Ecclesiastical PolitT/, 

HOBBES. 

The cause of dreams (if they be natural) are the ac* 
tions or violence of the inward parts of a man upon 
his brain, by w^hich the passages of sense, by sleep be- 
numbed, are restored to their motion. The signs by 
Avhich this appeareth to be so, are the differences of 
dreams (old men commonly dream oftenerjandhave their 
dreams more painful than young) proceeding from the 
different accidents of man *s body; as dreams of lust, as 
dreams of anger, according as the heart, or other parts 
within, work more or less upon the brain, by more or less 
heat ; so also the descent of different sorts of flegm ma- 
keth us a dream of different tastes of meats and drinks ; 
and I believe there is a reciprocation of motion from 
the brain to the vital parts, and back from the vital 
parts to the brain ; w^hereby not only imagination be- 
geteth motion in these parts, but also motion in these 
parts begeteth imagination like to that which it was be- 
gotten. If this be true, and that sad imagination nou- 
rish the spleen, then we see also a cause, w^hy a strong 
spleen reciprocally causeth fearful dreams, and why 
the effects of lasciviousnessmay in a dream produce the 
image of some person that had caused them. Another 
sign that dreams are caused by the action of the inward 
parts, is the disorder and casual consequence of one 
conception or image to another : for when we are wa- 
king, the antecedent thought or conception introduceth, 
N and 



1268 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

and is cause of the consequent, (as the water followeth 
a man's dry finger upon a dry and level table) but in 
dreams there is commonly no coherence (and when 
there is, it is by chance) which must needs proceed 
from this, that the brain in dreams is not restored to 
its motion in every part alike ; whereby it cometh to 
pass, that our thoughts appear like the stars between 
the flying clouds, not in the order in Avhich a man 
•would chuse to observe them, but as the uncertain 
flight of broken clouds permits. Mitman Nature, 

MILTON. /'■^^///••'^ 
The end of learning is to repair the ruin of our first 
parents, by regaining to know God aright, and out of 
that knowledge to love him, to iniitate him, to be like 
him, as we may the nearest by possessing our souls of 
true virtue, which being united to the heavenly grace 
of faith, makes up the highest perfection. But be- 
cause our understanding cannot in this body found it- 
self but on sensible things, nor arrive so clearly to the 
knowledge of God and things invisible, as by orderly 
conning over the visible and inferior creature, the same 
method is necessarily to be followed in discreet teach- 
ing. And seeing every nation atiords not experience 
and tradition enough for all kinds of learning, therefore 
we are chiefly taught the languages of those people who 
have at any time been most industrious after wisdom ; 
so that language is but the instrument conveying to us 
things useful to be known. And tho'a linguist should 
pride himself to have ail the tongues that Babel cleft 
the world into, yet, if he had not studied the solid 
things in them as well as the words and lexicons, he 

were 



er ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 259 

^re notliing to be so much esteem'd a learned man, as 
any yeoman or tradesman competently wise in his mo- 
ther dialect only. Hence appear the many mistakes 
which have made learning generally so unpleasing and 
so unsuccessful : first we do amiss to spend seven or 
eight years merely in scraping together so much mise- 
rable Latin and Greek, as might be learnt otherwise 
easily and delightfully in one year. And that which 
casts our proficiency therein so much behind, is our, 
time lost partly in too ol't idle vacancies given both to 
schools and universities, partly in a preposterous ex- 
action, forcing tlieempt}^ wits of children to compose, 
themes, verses, and orations, which are the acts of ri- 
pest judgment, and the final work of a head fill'd, by- 
long reading and observing, with elegant maxims, and 
copious invention. These are not matters to be wrung 
from poor striplings, like blood out of the nose, or the 
plucking of untimely fruit, Tractate of Education. 

COWLEY. 

The first minister of state has not so much business 
in public, as a wise man has in private : if the one have 
little leasure to be alone, the other has less leasure to 
be in company ; the one has but part of the affairs of 
one nation, the other all the works of God and nature 
under his consideration. There is no saying shocks 
me so much as that which I hear very often, -That a 
man does not know how to pass his time. 'Twould 
have been but ill spoken by Methusalem in the nine 
hundred sixty ninth year of his life ; so far it is from 
us, who have not time enough to attain to the utmost 
perfection of any part of any science, to have cause to 

complaia 



270 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

complain that we are forced to be idle for want or 
work. But this, you'll say, is work only for the learn- 
ed : others are not capable either of the imploj^ments 
or divertisements that arrive from letters. I know they 
are not: and therefore cannot much recommend soli- 
tude to a man totally illiterate. But if any man be so 
unlearned as to want entertainment of the little inter- 
vals of accidental solitude, which frequently occur in 
almost all conditions (except the very meanest of the 
people, who have business enough in the very provi- 
sions of life) it is truly a great shame t)oth to his parents 
and himself ; for a very small portion of any ingenious 
art will stop up all those gaps of our time ; either mu- 
sick, or painting, or designing, or chymistry, or his- 
tory, or ^gardening, or twenty other things will do it 
usefully and pleasantly ; and if he happen to set his 
affections upon poetry (which I do not advise him to 
immediately) that will overdo it ; no wood will be thick 
enough to hide him from the importunities of company 
or business, which would abstract him from his beloved. 
Discourses by way of Essays,, 

HALE. '-{'0 . /^y^ 

There are two great duties that we owe unto God, 
■which are never out of season, but such as we have 
continual occasion and necessity to use whilst we live ; 
namely, prayer and thanksgiving. 

Prayer is always seasonable in this life, because we 
ever stand in need of it : we always want something, 
and have always occasion to fear something: although 
we could be supposed in such a state of happiness in 
this world, that we could not say we wanted any thing, 

yet 



I 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 271 

yet we have cause to pray for the continuance of the 
happiness we enjoy, which is not so fixed and stable but 
that it may leave us : '* I said in my prosperity I shall 
never be moved ; thou hidest thy face and I was trou- 
bled." We are never out of the reach of divine pro- 
vidence, either to relieve or afflict us ; and therefore 
we are under a continual necessity of prayer, either to 
relieve and supply us, at least to preserve and uphold 
us. 

Thanksgiving is likewise always seasonable, because 
we are never without something that we receive from 
the divine goodness, that deserves and requires our 
thankfulness. It may be we want wealth, yet have we 
not health ? if we want both, yet have we not life ? if 
we want temporal blessings, yet have we not eternal, 
everlasting blessings ? If we have any thing that is 
comfortable to, or convenient for us, we have it from 
the goodness and bounty of God, And though we 
have not all we would, yet we have what we deserve 
not, and what we prize and value ; and therefore while 
we have any thing, we have occasion of thanksgiving 
to our great benefactor. 

Contemplations Moral and Divine. 

BROWNE. 

I could never divide myself from any man upon the 
difference of an opinion, or be angry with his judg- 
ment for not agreeing with me in that, from which per- 
haps within a few days I should dissent myself : I have 
no genius to disputes in religion, and have often 
thought it wisdom to decline them, especially upon a 
disadvantage, or when the cause of truth might suffer 

in 



STS PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

in the weakness of my patronage ; where we desire to 
be informed, 'tis good to contest with men above our- 
selves ; but to confirm and establish our opinions, 'tis 
best to argue with judgments below our own, that the 
frequent spoils and victories over their reasons may 
jsettle in ourselves an esteem, and confirmed opinion of 
our own. Every man is not a proper champion for 
truth, nor fit to take up the gauntlet in the cause of 
verity : Many from the ignorance of these maxims, and 
an inconsiderate zeal unto truth, have too rashly charged 
the troops of error, and remain as trophies unto the 
ienemies of truth : A man may be in as just possession 
of truth as of a city, and yet be forced to surrender ; 
*tis therefore far better to enjoy her with peace, than 
to hazard her on a battle, Religio MedicL 

TEMPLE. 

The safety and firmness of any frame of government 
may be best judged by the rules of architecture, which 
teach us that the pyramid is of all figures the firmest, 
and least subject to be shaken or overthrown by any 
concussions or accidents from the earth or air ; and it 
grows still so much the firmer, by how much broader 
the bottom and sharper the top. 

The ground upon Avhich all government stands, is 
the consent of the people, or the greatest or strongest 
part of them; -whether this proceed from reflexions 
upon what is past, by the reverence of any authority 
under which they and their ancestors have for many 
ages been born and bred ; or from a sense of what is 
present, by the ease, plenty, and safety they enjoy ; or 
from opinions of what is to come, by the fear they 

have 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 273 

have from the present government, or hopes from ano- 
ther. Now that government which by any of these, or 
by all these ways, takes in the consent of the greatest 
number of the people, and consequently their desires 
and resolutions to support it, may justly be said to have 
the broadest bottom, and to stand upon the largest 
compass of ground ; and, if it terminate in the autho- 
rity of one single person, it may likewise be said to 
have the narrowest top, and so to make the figure of 
the firmest sort of pyramid. Essay on Government. 

DRYDEN. -/'- 

*Tis not only commended by ancient practice, to 
celebrate the memory of great and worthy men, as the 
best thanks which posterity can pay them; but also 
the examples of virtue are of more vigour, when they 
are thus contracted into individuals. As the sun beams, 
united in a burning glass to a point, have greater force 
than when they are darted from a plain surperficies; 
so the virtues and actions of one man, drawn together 
in a single stor}^, strike upon our minds a stronger and 
more lively impression, than the scattered relations of 
many men, and many actions ; and by the same means 
that they give us pleasure, they afford us profit too. 
For when the understanding is intent and fix'd on a 
single thing, it carries closer to the mark; every part 
of the object sinks into it, and the soul receives it 
unmixt and whole. For this reason Aristotle commends 
the unity of action in a poem ; because the mind is not 
capable of digesting many things at once, nor of con- 
ceiving fully any more than one idea at a time. What- 
soever distracts the pleasure, lessens it. And as the 

reader 



S74» 1»R0GRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

reader is more concerned at one man's fortune, than 
those of many ; so likewise the writer is more capable 
of making a perfect work, if he confine himself to this 
narrow compass. The lineaments, features, and co- 
lourings, of a single picture, may be hit exactly ; but 
in a history-piece of many figures, the general design, 
4he ordinance or disposition of it, the relation of one 
figure to another, the diversity of posture, habits, 
shadowings, and all the other graces conspiring to an 
uniformity, are of so difficult performance, that neither 
is the resemblance of particular persons often perfect, 
i;ior the beauty of the piece complete : For any consi- 
derable error in the parts, renders the whole disagreeable 
and lame. Thus then the perfections of the work, and 
the benefit arising from it are more absolute in biogra* 
phy than in history. Life of Plutarch, 

SHAFTESBURY. 

Notwithstanding there may be implanted in the 
heart a real sense of right and wrong, a real good 
affection towards the species or society ; yet, by the 
violence of rage, lust, or any other counter- working 
passion, this good affection may frequently be con- 
trouled and overcome. Where therefore there is no- 
thing in the mind capable to render such ill passions 
the object of its aversion, and cause them earnestly to 
be opposed, it is apparent how much a good temper in 
time may suffer, and a character by degrees change 
for the worse. But if religion interposing, creates a 
belief that the ill passions of this kind, no less than 
their consequent actions, are the objects of a deity's 
animadversion 5 it is certain that such a belief must 

prove 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 275 

prove a seasonable remedy against vice, and be in a 
particular manner advantageous to virtue. For a be- 
lief of this kind must be supposed to tend considerably 
towards the calming of the mind, and disposing or fitting 
the person to a better recollection of himself, and to a 
stricter observance of that good and virtuous principle, 
which needs only his attention, to engage him wholly 
in its party and interest. Inquiry concerning Virtue* 

ADDISON. 

Man, considered in himself, is a very helpless and a 
very wretched being. He is subject every moment to 
the greatest calamities and misfortunes. He is beset 
with dangers on all sides, and may become unhappy 
by numberless casualties, which he could not foresee, 
nor have prevented, had he foreseen them. 

It is our comfort, while we are obnoxious to so many 
accidents, that we are under the care of one who 
directs contingencies, and has in his hands the manage- 
ment of every thing that is capable of annoying or 
offending us ; who knows the assistance we stand in 
need of, and is always ready to bestow it on those who 
ask it of him. 

The natural homage, which such a creature bears to 
so infinitely wise and good a being, is a firm reliance 
on him for the blessings and conveniences of life, and 
an habitual trust in him for deliverance out of all such 
dangers and difficulties as may befal us. Spectator, 

ARBUTHNOT. 

If we consider, to what perfection we now know the 

courses, periods, order, distances, and proportions, of 

n5 the 



27^ PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

the several great bodies of the universe, at least such 
as fall within our view ; we shall have cause to admire 
the sagacity and industry of the mathematicians, and 
the power of numbers and geometry well apply'd. Let 
\is cast our eyes backward, and consider astronomy in 
its infancy ; or rather let us suppose it still to begin : 
for instance, a colony of rude country people, trans- 
planted into an island remote from the commerce of 
all mankind, without so much as the knowledge of the 
kalender, and the periods of the seasons, without instru- 
ments to make observations, or any the least notion of 
observation or instruments. When is it, we could 
expect any of their posterity should arrive at the art of 
predicting an eclipse ? Not only so, but the art of 
reckoning all eclipses that are past or to come for any 
number of years ? When is it, we should suppose, 
that one of these islanders transported to any other 
part of the earth, should be able by the inspection of 
the heavens to find how much he were south or north, 
east or west of his own island, and to conduct his ship 
back thither ? For my part, though I know this may 
be, and is daily done, by wiiat is known in astronomy j 
yet when I consider the vast industry, sagacity, mul- 
titude of observations, and other extrinsick things 
necessary for such a sublime piece of knowledge, I 
should be apt to pronounce it impossible, and never 
to be hoped for. Now we are let so much into the 
knowledge of the machine of the universe, and motion 
of its parts by the rules of this science, perhaps the 
invention may seem easy. But when we reflect, what 
penetration and contrivance were necessary to lay the 

foundatioa 



OF ENGLISH COI^fPOSTTION. 277 

foundation of so great and extensive an art, we cannot 
but admire its first inventors. 

Essay on Matheynatical Learning. 

POPE. 

Homer is universally allowed to have the greatest 
invention of any writer whatever. The praise of judg- 
ment Virgil has justly contested with him, and others 
may have their pretensions as to particular excellencies j 
but his invention remains yet unrivalled. Nor is it a 
wonder if he has ever been acknowledged the greatest 
of poets, who most excelled in that which is the very 
foundation of poetry. It is the invention that in dif- 
ferent degrees distinguishes all great geniuses: the ut- 
most stretch of human stud}^, learning, and industry, 
which master every Ihing besides, can never attain to 
this. It furnishes art with all her materials; and, 
without it, judgment itself can at best but steal wisely. : 
for art is only like a prudent steward that lives on 
managing the riches of nature. Whatever praises may 
be given to works of judgment, there is not even a sin- 
gle beauty in them, to which the invention must not 
contribute. As, in the most regular gardens, art can 
only reduce the beauties of nature to more regularity, 
and such a figure, which the common eye ,may better 
take in, and is therefore more entertained with. And 
perhaps the reason why common critics are inclined to 
prefer a judicious and methodical genius to a great and 
fruitful one, is, because they find it easier for them- 
selves to pursue their observations through an uniform 
and bounded walk of art, than to comprehend the vast 
and various extent of nature. 

Our 



278 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

Our author's work is a wild paradise, where it we 
cannot see all the beauties so distinctly as in an ordered 
garden, it is only because the number of them is infi- 
nitely greater. 'Tis like a copious nursery which con- 
tains the seeds and first productions of every kind, out 
of which those who followed him have but selected 
some particular plants, each according to his fancy, to 
cultivate and beautify. If some things are too luxu- 
riant, it is owing to the richness of the soil ; and if 
others are not arrived to perfection and maturity, it is 
only because they are over-run and oppressed by those 
of a stronger nature. 

Preface to Homer'' s Iliad. 

SWIFT. /Ui.. /y/j^' 

It is likewise urged, that there are, by computation, 
in this kingdom, above ten thousand parsons; whose 
revenues, added to those of my lords the bishops, 
would suffice to maintain at least two hundred young 
gentlemen of wit, and pleasure, and free-thinking ; 
enemies to priest- craft, narrow principles, pedantry, 
and prejudices ; who might be an ornament to the 
court and town : and then again, so great a number of 
able (bodied) divines might be a recruit to our fleets 
and armies. This, indeed, appears to be a considera- 
tion of some weight : but then, on the other hand, 
Several things deserve to be considered likewise : as, 
f rst, whether it may not be thought necessary, that in 
certain tracts of country, like what we call parishes, 
there should be one man at least, of abilities to read and 
write. Then, it seems a wrong computation, that the 
revenues of the church throughout this island would be 

3ars« 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITIOX. 279 

large enough to maintain two hundred young gentle- 
men, or even half that number, after the present refined 
way of living; that is, to allow each of them such a 
rent, as, in the modern form of speech, might make 
them easy. But still, there is in this project a greater 
mischief behind ; and we ought to beware of the wo- 
man's folly, who killed the hen, that every morning 
laid her a golden egg. For pray what would become 
of the race of men in the next age, if we had nothing 
to trust to, besides the scrophulous consumptive pro- 
ductions furnished by our men of wit and pleasure ; 
when, having squandered away their vigour, health, 
and estates, they are forced by some disagreeable mar- 
riage, to piece up their broken fortunes, and entail 
rottenness and politeness on their posterity ? 

Argument against Abolishing Christianitj/, 

BERKELEY. 

As the whole earth, and the entire duration of those 
perishing things contained in it, is altogether inconsi- 
derable, or, in the prophet's expressive style, less than 
nothing, in respect of eternity ; who sees not, that every 
reasonable man ought so to frame his actions, as that 
they may most effectually contribute to promote his 
eternal interest ? And since it is a truth evident by the 
light of nature, that there iis a sovereign omniscient 
spirit, who alone can make us for ever happy, or for 
ever miserable ; it plainly follows, that a conformity to 
his will, and not any prospect of temporal advantage, 
is the sole rule whereby every man who acts up to the 
principles of reason, must govern and square his ac- 
tions. The same conclusion doth likewise evidently 

result 



280 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

result from the relation which God bears to his crea- 
tures. God alone is maker and preserver of all things: 
he is therefore with the most undoubted right the great 
legislator of the world ; and mankind are, by all the 
ties of dut}^, no less than interest, bound to obey his 
laws. 

Hence we should above all things endeavour to trace 
out the divine will, or the general design of Provi- 
dence, with regard to mankind, and the methods most 
directly tending to the accomplishment of that design. 
And this seems the genuine and proper way for dis- 
covering the laws of nature. For laws being rules di- 
rective of our actions to the end intended by the legis- 
lator ; in order to attain the knowledge of God's laws, 
we ought first to inquire, what that end is which he 
designs should be carried on by human actions. Now 
as God is a being of infinite goodness, it is plain, the 
end he proposes is good. But God enjoying in him- 
self all possible perfection, it follows, that it is not his 
own good, but that of his creatures. Again, the moral 
actions of men are entirely terminated within them- 
selves, so as to have no influence on the other orders of 
intelligences or reasonable creatures : the end therefore 
to be procured by them, can be no other than the good 
of men. But as nothing in a natural state can intitle 
one man more than another to the favour of God, ex- 
cept only moral goodness ; which, consisting in a con- 
formity to the laws of God, doth presume the being of 
such laws ; and law ever supposing an end to which it 
guides our actions ; it follows that antecedent to the 
end proposed by God, no distinction can be conceived 
between men 5 that end therefore itself, or general de- 
sign 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 281 

sign of Providence, is not determined or limited by any 
respect of persons : it is not therefore the private good 
of this or that man, nation, or age, but the general well- 
being of all men, of all nations, of all ages of the world, 
which God designs should be procured by the concur- 
ring actions of each individual. 

Discourse on Passive Obcdie^tce, 

BOLINGBROKE. 

The limitations necessary to preserve liberty under 
monarchy will restrain effectually a bad prince, without 
being ever felt as shackles by a good one. Our con- 
stitution is brought, or almost brought, to such a point, 
or perfection I think it, that no king, who is not, in the 
true meaning of the word, a patriot, can govern Britain 
with ease, security, honour, dignity, or indeed with 
sufficient power and strength. But yet a king, who is 
a patriot, may govern Avith all the former ; and, besides 
them, with power as extended as the most absolute 
monarch can boast ; and a power, too, far more agree- 
able in the enjoyment, as well as more effectual in the 
operation. 

On this subject let the imagination range through 
the whole glorious scene of a patriot reign : the beauty 
of the idea ^vill inspire those transports, which Plato 
imagined the vision of virtue would inspire, if virtue 
could be seen. What in truth can be so lovely? what 
so venerable, as to contemplate a king on whom the 
eyes of a whole people are fixed, filled with admira- 
tion, and glowing with affection? a king, in the tem- 
per of whose government, like that of Nerva, things 
»o seldom allied as empire and liberty are intimately 

mixed. 



28£ PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

mixed, co-exist together inseparably, and constitute 
one real essence ? What spectacle can be presented to 
the view of the mind so rare, so nearly divine, as a 
king possessed of absolute power, neither assumed by 
fraud nor maintained by force, but the genuine effect 
of esteem, of confidence, and affection ; the free gift of 
Liberty, who finds her greatest security in this power, 
and would desire no other if the prince on the throne 
could be, what his people wish him to be, immortal? 
Of such a prince, and of such a prince alone, it may 
be said with strict propriety and truth. 



• volentes 



Per populos dat jura, viamque affectat Olympo. 

Civil fury will have no place in this draught ; or, 
if the monster is seen, he must be seen as Virgil 
describes him ; 

- " ■ ' — centum vinctus ahen?s 

Po&t tergum nodis, fremit horridus ore cruento. 

He must be seen subdued, bound, chained, and de- 
prived entirely of power to do hurt. In this place, 
concord will appear brooding peace and prosperity 
on the happy land, joy sitting in every face, content 
in every heart ; a people unoppressed, undisturbed, 
unalarmed ; busy to improve their private proper- 
ty and the public stock: fleets covering tTie ocean; 
bringing home wealth by the returns of industry, 
carrying assistance or terror abroad by the direction 
of wisdom ; and asserting triumphantly the rights and 
the honour of Great Britain, as far as waters roll, and 
as winds can waft them. 

Idea of a Patriot King* 
MIDDLETON. 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 283 

MIDDLETON. ' " " 

But to speak my mind freely on the subject of con- 
sequences. I am not so scrupulous perhaps in my re- 
gard to them, as many of my profession are apt to be : 
my nature is frank and open, and warmly disposed, 
not only to seek, but to speak, what I take to be true j 
which disposition has been greatly confirmed by the 
situation, into which Providence has thrown me. For 
I was never trained to pace in the trammels of the 
church, nor tempted by the sweets of its preferments, 
to sacrifice the philosophic freedom of a studious, to 
the servile restraints of an ambitious, life : and from this 
very circumstance, as often as I reflect upon it, I feel 
that comfort in my own breast, which no external ho- 
nours can bestow. I persuade myself, that the life and 
faculties of man, at the best but short and limited, can- 
not be employed more rationally or laudably, than in 
the search of knowledge ; and especially of that sort, 
which relates to our duty, and conduces to our happi- 
ness. I look upon the discovery of any thing which is 
true, as a valuable acquisition to society ; which cannot 
possibly hurt, or obstruct the good effect of any other 
truth whatsoever : for they all partake of one common 
essence, and necessarily coincide with each other ; and, 
like the drops of rain, which fall separately into the 
river, mix themselves at once with the stream, and 
strengthen the general current. Free Inquiry* 

HUME. ^- ; 

The street before Whitehall was the place destined 
for the execution: for it was intended, by choosing 

that 



2S4 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

that very place, in sight of his own palace, to display 
more evidently the triumph of popular justice over 
royal majesty. When the king came upon the scaffold, 
he found it so surrounded with soldiers, that he could 
not expect to be heard by any of the people : he ad- 
dressed, therefore, his discourse to the few persons who 
were about him ; particularly Colonel Tomlinson, to 
whose care he had lately been committed, and upon 
whom, as upon many others, his amiable deportment 
had wrought an entire conversion. He justified his 
own innocence in the late fatal wars, and observed that 
he had not taken arms till after the parliament had en- 
listed forces ; nor had he any other object in his warlike 
operations, than to preserve that authority entire, 
which his predecessors had transmitted to him. He 
threw not, however, the blame upon the parliament ; 
but was more inclined to think that ill instruments had 
interposed, and raised in them fears and jealousies with 
regard to his intentions. Though innocent towards his 
people, he acknowledged the equity of his execution 
in the eyes of his Maker ; and observed that an unjust 
sentence, which he had suffered to take effect, was now 
punished by an unjust sentence upon himself. He for- 
gave all his enemies, even the chief instruments of his 
death ; but exhorted them and the whole nation to re- 
turn to the ways of peace, by paying obedience to their 
lawful sovereign his son and successor.— At one blow 
was his head severed from his body. A man in a vizor 
performed the office of executioner : another, in a like 
disguise, held up to the spectators the head streaming 
%vith blood, and cried aloud, This is the head of a 
traitor. 

It 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 285 

^ It is impossible to describe the grief, indignation 
and astonishment, which took place, not only among 
the spectators, who were oveiiwhelmed with a flood of 
sorrow, but throughout the whole nation, as soon as the 
report of this fatal execution was convej^ed to them. 
Kever monarch, in the full triumph of success and vic- 
tory, was more dear to his people, than his misfortunes 
and magnanimity, his patience and piety, had rendered 
this unhappy prince. In proportion to their former 
delusions, which had animated them against him, was 
the violence of their return to duty and affection ; 
while each reproached himself, either with active dis- 
loyalty towards him, or with too indolent defence of 
his oppressed cause. On weaker minds, the effect of 
these complicated passions was prodigious. Women 
are said to have cast forth the untimely fruit of their 
womb : others fell into convulsions, or sunk into such 
a melancholy as attended them to their grave ? nay, 
some, unmindful of themselves, as though they could 
not, or would not, survive their beloved prince, it is 
reported, suddenly fell down dead. The very pulpits 
were bedewed with unsuborned tears ; those pulpits 
which had formerly thundered out the most violent 
imprecations and anathemas against him. And all 
men united in their detestation of those hypocritical 
parricides, who, by sanctified pretences, had so long 
disguised their treasons, and in this last act of iniquity, 
had thrown an indelible stain upon the nation.* 

Historic of England, 

* If fving Charles did not merit his fate, he at least provoked it ; 
and all the rhetoric of Mr. Hiime will not persuade any candid and 
enlightened person to the contrary. 



286 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVETtfENT 

ROBERTSON. 

As soon as the sun arose, all the boats were manned 
and armed. They rowed towards the island with the 
colours displayed, warlike music, and other martial 
pomp ; and as they approached the coast, they saw it 
covered with a multitude of people, whom the novelty 
of the spectacle had drawn together, and whose atti- 
tudes and gestures expressed wonder and astonishment 
at the strange objects which presented themselves to 
their view. Columbus was the first European who set 
foot in the New World which he had discovered. He 
landed in a rich dress, with a naked sword in his hand. 
His men followed, and kneeling down, they all kissed 
the ground which they had so long desired to see. 
They next erected a crucifix, and, prostrating them- 
selves before it, returned thanks to God for conducting 
their voyage to such an happy issue. They then took 
solemn possession of the country for the crown of 
Castile and Leon, with all the formalities which the 
Portuguese ^vere accustomed to observe in acts of this 
kind in their new discoveries. 

The Spaniards, while thus employed, were sur- 
rounded by many of the natives, who gazed, in silent 
admiration, upon actions which they did not compre- 
hend, and of which they did not foresee the conse- 
quences. The dress of the Spaniards, the whiteness 
of their skins, their beards, their arms, appeared 
strange and surprising. The vast m&chines in which 
they had traversed the ocean, that seemed to move 
upon the waters with wings, and uttered a dreadful 
sound resembling thunder, accompanied with lightning 

and 



0F ENGLISH COMPOSITION". 28/ 

and smoke, struck them with such terror, that they 
began to respect their new guests as a superior order of 
beings^ and concluded that they were children of the 
Sun, who had descended to visit the earth. 

Historj^ of America, 

SMOLLETT. 

Genius in writing spontaneously arose ; and, though 
neglected by the great, flourished under the culture of 
a public which had pretensions to taste, and piqued it- 
self on encouraging literary merit. Swift and Pope 
we have mentioned on another occasion. Young stiJI 
survived, a venerable monument of poetical talents. 
Thomson, the poet of the Seasons, displayed a luxu- 
riancy of genius in describing the beauties of nature. 
Akenside and Armstrong excelled in didactic poetry. 
Even the Epopoea did not disdain an English dress ; 
but appeared to advantage in the Leonidas of Glover, 
and the Epigoniad of Wilkie. The public acknow- 
ledged a considerable share of dramatic merit in the 
tragedies of Young, Mallet, Home, and some other 
less distinguished authors. Very few regular come- 
dies, during this period, were exhibited on the English 
theatre \ which, however, produced many less laboured 
pieces, abounding with satire, wit, and humour. The 
Careless Husband of Cibber, and Suspicious Husband 
of Hoadley, are the only comedies of this age that bid 
fair for reaching posterity. The exhibitions of the 
stage were improved to the most exquisite entertain- 
ment by the talents and management of Garrick, who 
greatly surpassed all his predecessors of this and per- 
haps every other nation, in his genius for acting ; in 

the 



285 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEME^^T 

the sweetness and variety of his tones, the irresistible 
magic of his eye, the fire and vivacity of his action, 
the elegance of attitude, and the v/hole pathos of ex- 
pression, Quin excelled in dignit}^ and declamation, 
as well as exhibiting some characters of humour, equal- 
ly exquisite and peculiar. Mrs. Gibber breathed the 
whole soul of female tenderness and passion ; and Mrs. 
Pritchard displayed all the dignity of distress. That 
Great Britain was not barren of poets at this period, 
appears from the detached performances of Johnson, 
Mason, Gyslj, the two Whiteheads, and the two War- 
tons ; besides a great number of other bards, who have 
sported in lyric poetrj^, and acquired the applause of 
their fellow-citizens. Candidates for literary fame ap- 
peared even in the higher sphere of life, embelnshed 
by the nervous style, superior sense, and extensive 
erudition of a Corke ; by the delicate taste, the po- 
lished muse, and tender feelings of a Lyttelton, King 
shone unrivalled in Roman eloquence. Even the fe- 
male sex distinguished themselves by their taste and 
ingenuity. Miss Carter rivalled the celebrated Dacier 
in learning and critical knowledge ; Mrs. Lennox sig- 
nalized herself by many successful efforts of genius, 
both in poetry and prose ; and Miss Reid excelled the 
celebrated Rosalba in portrait painting, both in minia- 
ture and at large, in oil as well as in crayons. The 
genius of Cervantes was transfused into the novels of 
Fielding, who painted the characters, and ridiculed 
the follies of life, with equal strength, humour, and 
propriety. The field of history and biography was 
cultivated by many writers of ability; among whom 
we distinguish the copious Guthrie, the circumstantial 

Ralph, 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 289 

Ralph, the laborious Carte, the learned and elegant 
Robertson, and above all, the ingenious, penetrating, 
and comprehensive Hume, whom we rank among the 
first writers of the age, both as an historian and philo- 
sopher. Nor let us forget the merit conspicuous in 
the works of Campbell, remarkable for candour, intel- 
ligence, and precision. Johnson, inferior to none in 
philosophy, philology, poetry, and classical learning, 
stands foremost as an essayist, justly admired for the 
dignity, strength, and variety, of his style, as well as 
for the agreeable manner in which he investigates the 
human heart, tracing every interesting emotion, and 
opening all the sources of morality. The laudable aim 
of enlisting the passions on the side of Virtue was suc- 
cessfully pursued by Richardson, in his Pamela, Cla- 
rissa, and Grandison; a species of writing equally new 
and extraordinary, where, mingled with much super- 
fluity, we find a sublime system of ethics, an amazing 
knowledge and command of human nature. Many of 
the Greek and Roman classics made their appearance 
in English translations, which were favourably receivcvd 
as works of merit. Among these we place, after Pope's 
Homer, Virgil, by Pitt and Warton, Horace by Fran- 
cis, Polybius by Hampton, and Sophocles by Franklin. 
The war introduced a variety of military treatises, 
chiefly translated from the French language ; and a 
free country, like Great Britain, will always abound 
vv^ith political tracts and lucubrations. Every literary . 
production of merit, calculated for amusement or in- 
struction, that appeared in any country or language of 
Christendom, was immediately imported, and natura- 
lized among the English people. Never was the pur- 
2 suife 



£90 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

suit after knowledge so universal, or literary merit 
more regarded, than at this juncture, by the body of 
the British nation ; but it was honoured by no atten- 
tion from the throne, and little indulgence did it reap 
from the liberality of particular patrons. 

Histoiy of England, 

JUNIUS. 

Relinquishing, therefore, all idle views of amendment 
to your grace, or of benefit to the public, let me be 
permitted to consider your character and conduct mere- 
ly as a subject of curious speculation. There is some- 
thing in both which distinguishes you not only from all 
<^ther ministers, but all other men ; it is not that you 
d^ wrong by design, but that you should never do 
right by mistake. It is not that your indolence and 
your activity have been equally misapplied ; but that 
the first uniform principle, or if I may call it the genius 
of your life, should have carried you through every 
possible change and contradiction of conduct, without 
the momentary impulse or colour of a virtue ; and that 
the wildest spirit of inconsistency should never once 
have betrayed you into a wise or honourable action. 
This, I own, gives an air of singularity to your fortune, 
as well as to your disposition. Let us look back toge- 
ther to a scene in which a mind like your*s Avill find 
nothing to repent of. Let us try, my lord, how well 
you have supported the various relations in which you 
stood, to your sovereign, your country, your friends, 
and yourself. Give us, if it be possible, some excuse 
to posterity, and to ourselves, for submitting to your 
administration. If not the abilities of a great minister, 

if 



OF EXGLISH COMPOSITION. 291 

if not the integrity of a patriot, or the fidelity of a 
friend, shew us at least the firmness of a man. For 
, the sake of your mistress, the lover shall be spared. I 
will not lead her into public, as you have done, nor 
will I insult the memory of departed beauty. Her 
sex, which alone made her amiable in your eyes, makes 
her respectable in mine. 

The character of the reputed ancestors of some men, 
has made it possible for their descendants to be vicious 
in the extreme, without being degenerate. Those of 
your grace, for instance, left no distressing examples 
of virtue, even to their legitimate posterity; and you 
may look back with pleasure to an illustrious pedigree, 
in which heraldry has not left a single good quality 
upon record to insult or upbraid you. You have better 
proofs of your descent, my lord, than the register of a 
marriage, or any troublesome inheritance of reputation. 
There are some hereditary strokes of character, by 
which a family may be as clearly distinguished as by 
the blackest features of the human fiice. Charles the 
first lived and died a hypocrite. Charles the second 
was a hj'pocrite of another sort, and should have died 
upon the same scaffold. At the distance of a century, 
we see their different characters happily revived and 
blended in your grace. Sullen and severe without re- 
ligion, profligate without gaiety, you live like Charles 
the second, witiiout beuig an amiable companion ; 
and, for aught I know^ may die as his father died, 
without the reputation of a martyr. 

Letters of Junius, 

O GOLDSMITH. 



292 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

. GOLDSMITH. 

Examine a savage in the history of his country and 
predecessors ; you will find his warriors able to con- 
quer armies, and his sages acquainted with more than 
possible knowledge : human nature is to him an un- 
known country ; he thinks it capable of great things, 
because he is ignorant of its boundaries ; whatever can 
be conceived to be done, he allows to be possible, and 
whatever is possible, he conjectures must have been 
done. He never measures the actions and ,powers of 
others, by what himself is able to perform, nor makes 
a proper estimate of the greatness of his fellows, by 
bringing it to the standard of his own incapacity. He 
is satisfied to be one of a country where mighty things 
have been ; and imagines the fancied powers of others 
reflect a lustre on himself. Thus, by degrees, he loses 
the idea of his own insignificance,, in a confused notion 
of the extraordinary powers of humanity, and is willing 
to grant extraordinary gifts to every pretender, because 
unacquainted with their claims. 

This is the reason why demi-gods and heroes have 
ever been erected in times or countries of ignorance 
and barbarit}^ ; they addressed a people who had high 
opinions of human nature, because they were ignorant 
how far it could extend ; they addressed a people who 
were willing to allow that men should be gods, because 
they Avere yet imperfectly acquainted with Ged and 
with man. These impostors knew, that all men are 
naturally fond of seeing something very great, made 
from the little materials of butuanity ; that ignorant 
nations are not more proud of building a tower to 

reach 



GF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. S^S 

reach heaven, or a pyramid to last for ages, than of 
raising up a demi-god of their own country and crea- 
tion. The same pride that erects a colossus or a py- 
ramid, instals a god or an hero : but though the adoring 
savage can raise his colossus to the clouds, he can exalt 
the hero not one inch abov€ the standard of humanity; 
incapable therefore of exalting the idol, he debases 
himself and falls prostrate before him. 

Citizen of the Worlds 

JOHNSON. 

The place, which the wisdom or policy of antiquity- 
had destined for the residence of the Abyssinian princes, 
was a spacious valley in the kingdom of Amhara, sur- 
rounded on every side by mountains, of which the 
summits overhang tjie middle part. The only passage, 
by which it could be entered, w^as a cavern that passed 
under a rock, of which it had long been disputed whe- 
ther it was the work of nature or of human industry. 
The outlet of the cavern was concealed by a thick 
wood, and the mouth which opened into the valley 
was closed with gates of iron, forged by the artificers 
of ancient days, so massy that no man without the 
help of engiiaes could open or shut them. 

From the mountains on every side, rivulets descended 
that filled all the TaHey ivith verdure and fertility, and 
formed a lake in the middle inhabited by fish of every 
species, and frequented by every fowl whom nature 
has taught to dip the wing in water. The lake dis- 
charged its superfluities by a stream which entered a 
dark cleft of the mountain on the northern side^ and 

■fel 



Og4f TROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

fell with dreadful noise from precipice to precipice till 
it was heard no more. 

The sides of the mountains were covered with trees, 
the banks of the brooks w^ere diversified with flowers; 
every blast shook spices from the rocks, and every 
month dropped fruits upon the ground. All animals 
that bite the grass, or browse the shrub, whether tame 
or wild, wandered in this extensive circuit, secured 
from beasts of prey by the mountains which confined 
them. On one part were flocks and herds feeding in 
the pastures, on another all the beasts of chace frisking 
in the lawns ; the sprightly kid was bounding on the 
rocks, the subtle monkey frolicking in the trees, and 
, the solemn elephant reposing in the shade. All the 
diversities of the world were brought together, the 
blessings of nature were collected, and its evils ex- 
tracted and excluded. 

Rasselas, Prince cf Abyssinia. 

STUART. /yu Z 

The knight, while he acquired, in the company of 
the ladies, the graces of external behaviour, improved 
his natural sensibility and tenderness. He smoothed 
over the roughness of war with politeness. To be 
rude to a lady, or to speak to her disadvantage, was a 
crime which could not be pardoned. He guarded her 
possessions from the rapacious, and maintained her 
reputation against slander. The uncourteous offender 
w as driven from the society of the valiant ; and the in- 
terposition of the fair was often necessary to protect 
him from death. But the courtesy of the knight, 
though due in a pecuhar manner to the female sex, 
4 extended 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. ^9^ 

Extended itself to all the business and intercourse of 
civil life. He studied a habitual elegance of manners. 
Politeness became a knightly virtue ; it even attended 
him to the field of battle, and checked his passions in 
the ardour of victory. The generosity and the deli- 
cate attentions he shewed to the enemy he had van- 
quished are a satire on the warriors of antiquitj*. His 
triumphs were disgraced by no indecent joy, no brutal 
ferocity. Courteous and generous in the general strain 
of his conduct, refined to extravagance in his gallantry 
to the ladies, and declared protector of religion and 
innocence, he was himself to be free from every stain. 
His rank, his duties, and his cares, made liii-.i aim at 

the perfection of virtue. 

p^iew of Societi/ in Enropti 

GIBBON. ; 

The discoveries of ancient and modern navigators, 
and the domestic history or tradition of the most en- 
lightened nations, represent the human savage naked 
both in mind and body, and destitute of laws, of arts, 
of ideas, and almost of language. From this abject 
condition, perhaps the primitive and universal state of 
man, he has gradually arisen to command the animals, 
to fertilise the earth, to traverse the ocean, and to 
measure the heavens. His progress in the improve- 
ment and exercise of his mental and corporeal facul- 
ties has been irregular and various; infinitely slow in 
the beginning, and encreasjng by degrees with redou- 
bled velocity : ages of laborious ascent have been fol- 
lowed by a moment of rapid downfal ; and the several 
climates of the globe have felt the vicissitudes of light 

and 



^9& PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

and darkness. Yet the experience of four thousand 
years should enlarge our ftopes, and diminish our ap- 
prehensions : we cannot determine to what height the 
human species may aspire in their advances towards 
perfection f but it may safely be presumed that no 
people, unless the face of nature is changed, will re- 
lapse into their original barbarism. The improvements 
of society may be viewed under a threefold aspect. 
1. The poet or philosopher illustrates his age and 
country by the efforts of a single mind ; but these 
superior powers of reason or fancy are rare and spon- 
taneaus productions, and the genias of Homer, or 
Cicero, or Newton, would excite less admiration, if 
they could be created by the will of a prince, or the 
lessons of a preceptor. 2. The benefits of law and 
policy, of trade and manufactures, of arts and sciences, 
are more solid and permanent ; and mani/ individuals 
may be qualified, by education and discipline, to pro- 
mote, in their respective stations, the interest of the 
community. But this general order is the effect of 
skill and labour; and the complex machinery may be 
decayed by time, or injured by violence. 3. Fortu- 
nately for mankind, the more useful, or, at least, more 
necessary arts, can be performed without superior ta- 
lents, or national subordination ; without the powers 
of one, or the union of many. Each village, each 
family, each individual, must always possess both abi- 
lity and inclination, to perpetuate the use of fire and 
of metals ; the propagation and service of domestic 
animals ; the methods of hunting and fishing ; the ru- 
diments of navigation ; the imperfect cultivation of 
corn, or other nutritive grain ; and the simple practice 

of 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. £97 

©f the mechanic trades. Private genius and public in- 
dustr}^ may be extirpated ; but these hardy plants sur- 
vive the tempest, and strike an everlasting root into 
the most unfavourable soil. The splendid days of 
Augustus and Trajan were eclipsed by a cloud of 
ignorance ; and the barbarians subverted the laws and 
palaces of Rome. But the scythe, the invention or 
emblem of Saturn, still continued annually to mow the 
harvests of Italy ; and the human feasts of the Lsestri- 
gons have never been renewed on the coast of Cam- 
pania. 

Since the first discovery of the arts, war, commerce, 
and religious zeal, have diffused, among the savages of 
the Old and New World, these inestimable gifts : they 
have been successively propagated ; they can never be 
lost. We may therefore acquiesce in the pleasing con- 
clusion, that every age of the world has encreased, and 
still encreases, the real ^vealth, the happiness, the 
knowledge, and perhaps the virtue, of the human race. 
History of the Roman Empire. 

BURKE. 

By a constitutional policy, working after the pattern 
of nature, we receive, we hold, we transmit, our go- 
vernment and our privileges, in the same manner iu 
which we enjoy and transmit our property and lives. 
The institutions of policy, the goods of fortune, 4:he 
gifts of Providence, are handed down to us and from ' 
us, in the same course and order. Our political sytem 
is placed in a just correspondence and symmetry with 
the order of the world, and with the mode of existence 
decreed to a permanent body composed of transitory 

parts y 



298 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

parts ; wherein, by the disposition of stupendous wis- 
dom, moulding together the great mysterious incorpo- 
ration of the human race, the whole, at one time, is 
never old, or middle-aged, or young, but, in a con- 
dition of unchangeable constancy, moves on through 
the varied tenour of perpetual decay, fall, renovation, 
and progression. Thus, by preserving the method of 
nature in the conduct of the state, in what we improve 
we are never wholly new ; in what we retain we are 
never wholly obsolete. By adhering in this manner 
ruid on these principles to our forefathers, we are 
guided, not by the superstition of antiquaries, but by 
the spirit of philosophic analogy. In this choice, of 
inheritance we have given to our f ram© .of polity the 
image of a relation in blood ; binding up tha constitu- 
tion of our country with our dearest domegtie tm j 
adopting our fundamental lav/s into the, bosom of our 
family affections ; keeping inseparable, and cherishing 
with the warmth of all their combined and mutually 
reBected charities, our state, our hearths, our sepul- 
chres, and our altars. 

Meflcctrons on the Revolution in France^ 

BLAIR. 

We may easily be satisfied that applause will be 
often shared by the undeserving, if we allow ourselves 
to consider from whom it proceeds. When it is the 
approbation of the wise only and the good which is 
pursued, the love of praise may then be accounted to 
contain itself within just bounds, and to run in its pro. 
per channel. But the tostimony of the discerning few, 
Biodest and unassuming as they commonly are, forms 

but 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 299 

but a small part of the public voica. It seldom amounts 
to more than a Avhisper, which amidst the general cla- 
mour is drowned. When the love of praise has taken 
possession of the mind, it confines not itself to an ob- 
ject so limited. It grows into an appetite for indis- 
criminate praise. And who are they that confer this 
praise? A mixed multitude of men, who in their whole 
conduct are guided by humour and caprice, far more 
than by reason ; who admire false appearances, and 
pursue false gods ; who inquire superficially, and judge 
rashly ; whose sentiments are the most part erroneous, 
always changeable, and often inconsistent. Nor let 
any one imagine, that by looking above the crowd, 
and courting the praise of the fashionable and the 
great, he makes sure of true honour. There are a 
great vulgar, as well as a small. Rank often makes no 
difference in the understandings of men, or in their 
judicious distribution of praise. Luxury, pride, and 
vanity, have frequently as much influence in corrupt- 
ing the sentiments of the great, as ignorance, bigotry, 
and prejudice, have in misleading the opinions of the 
crowd.— And is it to such judges as these that you 
submit the supreme direction of 3*our conduct? Do 
5'ou stoop to court their favour as your chief distinc- 
tion, when an object of so much juster and higher am- 
bition is presented to you in the praise of God'^ God 
is the only unerring judge of what is excellent. His 
approbation alone is the substance, all other pra.ise is 
but the shadow, of honour. The character which you 
bear in his sight is your, only real one. How contemp- 
tible does it render you to be indifferent with respec 
to this, and to be solicitous ^bout a name alone, .. 
o- 5 fictitious, 



300 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

fictitious, imaginary character, which has no existence 
except in the opinions of a few weak and credulous 
men around you ? They see no farther than the out- 
side of things. They can judge of you by actions 
only; and not by the comprehensive view of all your 
actions, but by such merely as you have had opportu- 
nity of bringing forth to public notice. But the sove- 
reign of the world beholds you in every light in which 
you can be placed. The silent virtues of a generous 
purpose and a pious heart, attract his notice equally 
with the most splendid deeds. From him you may 
reap the praise of good actions which you had no op- 
portunity of performing. For he sees them in their 
principle ; he judges of you by your intentions ; he 
knows what you would have done. You may be in his 
eyes a hero or a martyr, without undergoing the la- 
bours of the one, or the sufferings of the other. 

Sermons^ 

BEATTIE, 

There is no modern writer, whose stj^le is more 
distinguishable [than that of Dr3''den.] Energy and 
ease are its chief characters. The former is owing to 
a happy choice of expressions, equally emphatical and 
plain: the latter to a laudable partiality in favour of 
the idioms and radical words of the English tongue ; 
the native riches and peculiar genius whereof are per- 
haps more apparent in him, than in any other of our 
poets. In Dryden's more correct pieces, we meet with 
no affectation of words of Greek or Latin etymology, 
nor cumbersome pomp of epithets, no drawling cir- 
cumlocutions, no idle glare of images, no blunderings 
round about a meaning : his English is pure and simple, 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 301 

nervous and clear, to a degree which Pope has never 
exceeded, and not always equalled. Yet, as I have 
elsewhere remarked, his attachment to the vernacular 
idiom, as well as the fashion of his age, often betrays 
him into a vulgarity, and even meanness, of expression, 
w^hich is particularly observable in his translations of 
Virgil and Homer ; and in those parts of his waitings 
where he aims at pathos or sublimity. In fact. Dry- 
den's genius did not lead him to the sublime or pathetic. 
Good strokes of both may be found in him ; but they 
are momentary, and seem to be accidental. He is too 
witty for the one, and too familiar for the other. That 
he had no adequate relish for the majesty of Paradise 
Lost, is evident to those who have compared his opera 
called The State of Innocence with that immortal poem 5 
and that his taste for the true pathetic was imperfect, 
too manifestly appears from the general tenor of his 
Translations, as well as Tragedies. His Virgil abounds 
in lines and couplets of the most perfect beauty ; but 
these are mixed with others of a different stamp : nor 
can they who judge of the original by this translation, 
ever receive any tolerable idea of that uniform magni- 
ficence of sound and language, that exquisite choice of 
words and figures, and that sweet pathos of expression 
and of sentiment, which characterise the Mantuan 
Poet. — In delineating the more familiar scenes of life, 
in clothing plain moral doctrines with easy and grace- 
ful versification, in the various departments of comic 
satire, and in the spirit and melody of his lyric poems, 
Dryden is inferior to none of those who went before 
him. He exceeds his master Chaucer in the first ; in 
the three last, he rivals Horace; the style of whose epis- 
tles he has happily imitated in his Religio Laki^ and 



302 PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

Other didactic pieces ; and the harmony and elegance 
of whose odes he has proved that he could have equal- 
led, if he had thought proper to cultivate that branch 
of the poetic art. Indeed, whether we consider his 
peculiar significancy of expression, or the purity of his 
style ; the sweetness of his lyric, or the ease and per- 
spicuity of his moral poems ; the sportive severity of 
Lis satire, or his talents in wit and humour ; Dryden, 
in point of gefiius (I do not say fastej^ seems to bear a 
closer affinity to Horace, than to any other ancient or 
i«odern author. For energy of words, vivacity of 
description, and apposite variety of numbers, his Feast 
of Alexander is superior to any ode of Horace or 
Pindar x\o\y extant. 

Dryden's verse, though often faulty, has a grace and 
a spirit peculiar to itself. That of Pope is more cor- 
rect, and perhaps upon the w^hole more harmonious; 
but it is in general more languid, and less diversified. 
Pope's nunibers are sweet but elaborate ; and our sense 
of their energy is in some degree interrupted by our 
attention to the art displayed in their contexture ; 
Dryden's are natural and free ; and, while they com- 
municate their own sprightly motion to the spirits of 
the reader, hurrj^him along with a gentle and pleasing 
violeilce, without giving him time either to animadvert 
on their faults, or to analyse their beauties. Pope 
excels in solemnity of sound ; Dryden, in an easy 
melody, and boundless variety of rhythm. In this last 
respect he is perhaps superior to all other English 
poets, Milton himself not excepted. Till Dryden ap- 
peared, none cf our writers in rhyme of the last cen- 
tury approached in any measure to the harmony of 
Fairfax and Spenser. Of Waller it can only be said. 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 303- 

that be is not harsh ; of Denham and Cowley, if a few 
couplets were struck out of their works, we could not 
say so much. But in Dryden's hands, the English 
rhyming couplet assumed a new form, and seems 
hardly susceptible of any further improvement. One 
of the greatest poets of this century, the late and 
much lamented Mr. Gra}^ of Cambridge, modestly de-- 
clared to me, that if there was in his own numbers 
any thing that deserved approbation, he had learned it 
all from Dryden. 

Critics have often stated a comparison between Dry- 
den and Pope, as poets of the same order, and who 
differed only, in t/t'.^'re'^ of merit. But, in my opinion, 
the merit of the one differs considerably in kind from 
that of the other. Both were happy in a sound judg- 
ment and most comprehensive mind. Wit, and hu- 
, mour, and learning too, they seem to have possessed in 
equal measure ; or, if Dryden may be thought to have 
gone deeper in the sciences, Pope must be allowed to 
have been the greater adept in the arts. The diver- 
sities in point of correctness and delicacy, Avhich arose 
from their different ways of life, I do not now insist 
upon. But, setting those aside, if Dryden founds any 
claim of preference on the originality of his manner, 
we shall venture to affirm, that Pope may found a 
similar claim, and with equal justice, on the perfection 
of his taste ; and that, if the critical writings of the 
first are more voluminous, those of the second are 
more judicious; if Dryden's inventions are more diver- 
sified, those of Pope are more regular, and more impor- 
tant. Pope's style may be thought to have less sim- 
.plicity, less vivacity, and less of the purity of the 
naotlier-tx)ngue ', but is at the same time more uni- 



S04i PROGRESSIVE IMPROVEMENT 

formly elevated, and less debased by vulgarism, than 
that of his great master: — and the superior variety 
that animates the numbers of the latter, will perhaps 
be found to be compensated by the steadier and more 
majestic modulation of the former. Thus far their 
merits would appear to be pretty equally balanced. — 
But if the opinion of those critics be true, who hold 
that the highest regions of Parnassus are appropriated 
to pathos and sublimity, Dryden must after all confess^ 
that he has never ascended so far as his- illustrious 
imitator: there being nothing in the writings of the 
first so pathetic as the Epistk of Eloisa, or the Elegy 
on the Unfortunate Lady ; nor so uniformly sublime as 
the Essay on Man, or the Pastoral of the Messiah, 
This last is indeed but a selection and imitation of 
choice passages ; but it bespeaks a power of imitation, 
and a taste in selection, that Dryden does not seem to 
have possessed. To all which may I not be permitted 
to add, what I think I could prove, that the pathos of 
Homer is frequently improved by Pope, and that of 
Virgil very frequently debased by Dryden ? 

The writings of Dryden are stamped with originality, 
but are not always the better for that circumstance. 
Pope is an imitator professedly, and of choice ; but to 
most of those whom he copies he is at least equal ; and 
to many of them superior : and it is pleasing to observe, 
how he rises in proportion to his originals. Where he 
follows Denham, Buckingham, Roscommon, and Ro- 
chester in his Windsor Forest, Essay on Criticism, and 
poem on Silence, he is superior indeed, but does not 
soar very high above them. When he versifies Chau^ 
cer, he catches, as by instinct, the ease, simplicity, and 
spirit of Dryden, whom he there emulates. In the 



OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION. S06 

Rape of the Lock he outshines Boileau, as much as the 
sylphs that flutter round BeUnda exceed in spright- 
liness and luminous beauty those mechanical attendants 
of the goddess of luxury, who knead up plumpness for 
the chin of the canon, and pound vermilion for the 
cheek of the monk. His Eloisa is beyond all compa- 
rison more sublime and more interesting than any of 
Ovid's Heroines. His imitations of Horace equal their 
archetypes in elegance, and often surpass them in 
energy and fire. In the lyric style, he was no match 
for Dryden : but when he copies the manner of Virgil, 
and borrows the thoughts of Isaiah, Pope is superior 
not only to himself, but to almost all other poets. 

Essay on Poetry and Music, 

FOX. 

Whatever might be the language of flatterers, and 
how loud soever the cry of a triumphant but deluded 
party, there were not wanting men of nobler sentiments, 
and of more rational views. Minds once thoroughly 
imbrued with the love of what Sydney, in his last 
moments, so emphatically called the good old cause, 
will not easily relinquish their principles ; nor was the 
manner in which absolute power was exercised, such 
as to reconcile to it, in practice, those who had always 
been averse to it in speculation. The hatred of tyranny 
must, in such persons, have been exasperated by the 
experience of its effects, and their attachment to liberty 
proportionably confirmed. To them the state of their 
country must have been intolerable : to reflect upon 
the eff'orts of their fathers, once their pride and glory, 
and whom they themselves had followed with no un- 
equal steps, and to see the result of ail in the scenes 



306 OBSERVATIONS ON" 

that, now presented themselves, must have filled their 
minds with sensations of the deepest regret, and feelings 
bordering at least on despondency. To us, who have 
the opportunity of combining, in our view of this 
period, not only the preceding but subsequent tran- 
sactions, the consideration of it may suggest re- 
flections far different, and speculations more conso- 
latory. Indeed I know not that history can furnish a 
more forcible lesson against despondency, than by 
recording, that within a short time from- those dismal 
days in v/hich men of the greatest constancy despaired, 
and had reason to do sd, within five years from the 
death of Sydney, arose the brightest aira of freedom 
known to the annals of our country. 

History of James the Second. 



OBSERVATIONS ON 

EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION, 

T?PISTOLARY writing possesses a kind of middle 
place between the serious and amusing species of 
composition. It appears, at first view, to stretch into 
a very wide field : for there is no subject whatever, on 
which a person may not convey his thoughts to the 
public, in the form of a letter. Lord Shaftesbury, for 
instance, and several other v/riters, have chosen to give 
this form to philosophical treatises. 'But this circum- 
stance is not sufficient to class such treatises under the 
head of epistolary composition. Though they may 
bear the title of a letter to a friend; yet, after the fir^t 



EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 507 

address, the friend disappears, and we perceive that it 
is in truth the public with whom the author corresponds. 
Seneca's epistles are of this description : there is no 
probability that they ever passed in correspondence as 
real letters. They are no other than miscellaneous 
dissertations on moral subjects ; which the author, for 
liis convenience, chose to exhibit in the epistolary 
form Even where one writes a real letter on some 
formal topic, as of moral or religious consolation, to a 
person under distress, such as Sir WiUiam Temple has 
written to the countess of Essex on the death of her 
daughter, he is at liberty on such occasions to write 
wholly as a divine or as a philosopher^ and to assume 
the style of the one or of the other without reprehensioti. 
We coRgidgr thi aulhoA' not m writing a familiar letter, 
but as composing, a formal digcoursa, suited to th© 
peculiar circumstances of some individual, 

Epistolary writing becomes a distinct species of com* 
position, subject to the cognizance of criticism, only, 
or chiefly, when it is of the easy and familiar kind; 
when it is conversation carried on upon paper, betweea 
two friends at a distance. Such an intercourse, when 
well conducted, may be rendered very agreeable to 
readers of taste. If the subject of the letters be impor-. 
tant, they will be the more valuable. Even though 
there should be nothing very considerable in the subject,, 
yet if the spirit and turn of the correspondence be 
agreeable; if they be written in a sprightly manner, 
and with native grace and ease, they may still be 
entertaining; more especially if there be any thing to 
interest us in the characters of the wTiters. Of the 
truth of this remark, the correspondence of Gray and 
of Cowper furnishes a striking illustration. 



dOS OBSERVATIONS ON 

Concerning the letters of eminent men, the-pubfi© 
has always shewn an eminent degTce of curiosity. We 
expect that their correspondence will discover some- 
thing of their real character. It is indeed childish to 
expect, that in letters we are to find the whole heart 
of the writer unveiled. Concealment and disguise take 
place, more or less, in all human intercourse. But 
still, as letters from one friend to another make the 
nearest approach to conversation, we may expect to 
see more of a character displayed in these than in pro- 
ductions intended for public inspection. We please 
ourselves with beholding the writer in a situation which 
allows him to be at his ease, and to give vent occa- 
sionally to the overflowings of his heart. When a 
writer has distinguished himself in his studied perfor- 
mances, and delighted us in those works which he in- 
tended for our perusal, we become interested in all 
that concerns him, and Avish to be acquainted with his 
ideas, as they flowed, without any view to their publi- 
cation, in the open communications of a private and 
friendly correspondence. Beautiful minds, like beau- 
tiful bodies, appear graceful in an undress. The awe 
which they inspire, when surrounded with all their 
dignity, is sometimes more striking than pleasing ; but 
we feel ourselves relieved when admitted to their fami- 
liarity. We love to retire behind the scenes, and to 
observe the undisguivsed appearance of those who please 
us when industriously decorated for public exhibition. 
Much, therefore, of the merit and the agreeableness 
of epistolary writing will depend on its introducing us 
to some acquaintance with the writer. Here, if any- 
where, we look for the man, not for the author. Its 
2 first 



EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION, 309 

first and fundamental requisite is, to be natural and 
simple ; for a stiff and laboured manner is as bad in a 
letter, as it is in conversation. This does not banish 
sprightliness and wit. These are graceful in letters, 
just as they are in conversation ; when they flow easily, 
and without any appearance of study, when employed 
so as to season, not to cloy. 

Much has been said concerning the epistolary style; 
as if any one style could be appropriated to the great 
variety of subjects which are discussed in letters. Ease 
should distinguish familiar letters, v/ritten on the com = 
mon affairs of life ; because the mind is usually at ease 
■while they are composed. But even in these there may 
incidentally arise some topic that requires elevated 
language. Not to elevate our expressions on these 
occasions, is to write unnaturally ; for nature teaches 
us to express animated emotions of every kind in ani- 
mated language. 

The impassioned lover writes unnaturally, if he 
writes with the ease of Sevigne. The dependant writes 
unnaturally to a superior, if he adopts a style of fami- 
liarity. The suppliant writes unnaturally if he rejects 
the figures dictated by distress. Conversation admits 
of every style but the poetic ; and what are letters but 
written conversation? The great rule is, to follow 
nature, and to avoid an affected manner. 

Ease and simplicity are ornaments to every species 
of composition. The most interesting letters are com- 
monly such as have been written with the greatest 
facility. What the heart or the imagination dictates, 
may always be readily expressed : but where there is 
no subject to warm or interest these, constraint is apfe 
to appear ; and hence, those letters of mere eompli 



310 OBSERVATIONS OTST 

ment, congratulation, or condolence, which have cost 
the authors most labour in composing, and which, for 
that reason, they perhaps consider as their master- 
pieces, never fail of being the most disagreeable and 
insipid to the reader. 

It ought, however, to be remembered that the ease 
and simphcity which I have recommended in epistolary 
correspondence, are not to be understood as importing 
entire carelessness. In writing to the most intimate 
friend, a certain degree of attention, both to the subject 
and the style, is requisite and becoming. It is no more 
than what we owe to ourselves, and to the friend with 
whom we correspond. A slovenly and negligent man- 
ner of writing argues a want of due respect. The 
licence which some persons agsume^ of writing letters, 
with too careless a hand, is apt to betray tbem into 
imprudence in what they write. The first requisite, 
both in coiiversation and correspondence, is to attend 
to a,li the proper decorums which our own character 
and that of others demand. An imprudent expression 
in conversation may be forgotten and pass away ; but 
when we take the pen in oar hand, we must remember^ 
Litera scripta manet. 

The Greeks, remarkable as they were for diversity 
of composition, have not left many models in the 
epistolary style. The epistles attributed to Socrates, 
Xenophon, yEschines, Antisthenes, Aristippus, and 
Philo, have never been popular. Those which bear 
the name of Aristsenetus are composed in a taste less- 
resembling the Attic than the Oriental. The descrip- 
tions in them are poetically luxuriant, but the language 
is not pure, nor the style simple. 

With regard to the epistles ascribed to Phalarisy 



EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 311 

various opinions hav^e been entertained among the 
learned. They have been considered as genuine by 
Temple, Boyle, King, Swift, and many others; while 
Dr. Bentley, a more competent judge, has rejected 
them as spurious. It is now the opinion of those who 
are best qualified to decide, that in this violent con- 
troversy the victory was gained by Bentley. This 
critic observes with bis usual acrimony, that Mr. Boyle, 
who was after wards'earl of Orrery, made a bad book 
worse by giving a bad edition of it. 

The letters of Cicero are the most valuable collection 
extant in any language. They are letters of real 
business written to the greatest men of the age, com- 
posed with purity and elegance, but without the least 
affectation ; and, what adds greatly to their merit, 
written without any view to publication. It appears 
that he never retained copies of his own letters ; and 
we are wholly indebted to the care of his freed- man 
Tiro, for the extensive collection that appeared after 
his death. They contain tlie most authentic materials 
for the history of that age ; and are the last monuments 
which remain of Rome in its free state ; the greatest 
part of them being written when the republic was on 
the brink of ruin. To his intimate friends, and espe- 
cially to Atticus, he lays open his heart with great 
freedom. In the course of his correspondence with 
others, we are introduced into an acquaintance with 
several of the principal person^iges of Rome : and it is 
remarkable that most of Cicero's correspondents, as 
well as himself, are elegant and polite writers ; a cir- 
cumstance which selves to heighten our idea of the 
taste and manners of that age. 

The epistles of the younger Pliny cannot without 



S12 OBSERVATIONS ON 

impropriety be termed /amilia7\ For though many of 
them are addressed to his most intimate friends, and 
relate to personal topics, yet, as we know that they 
were published by the writer himself after they had 
undergone his revision and correction, we may be as- 
sured that their purpose was not the simple effusion of 
his mind. In fact, the evident design of afmost every 
letter in the collection is, to dispW the good qualities 
of the writer. They generally turn upon some act of 
munificence which he had performed, -some instance 
of his literary or oratorical reputation, his attachment 
to stud}^ his philosophical temper of mind, his love of 
virtue, in short, upon something that may heighten 
his character in the idea of his correspondent. His 
leading foible, indeed, the thirst of applause, they 
very amply exhibit ; for he neither wished to conceal 
it, nor could he do so consistently with his purpose of 
attaining applause. But we shall in vain look for any 
touches of nature which may make us acquainted in 
other respects with the man. All is so varnished with 
splendid sentiments, and elegancies of thought and ex- 
pression, that no peculiar features are discernible. 
The subject of ev^ry lette^r is a theme, on which the 
finest things are to be said ; and we are sometimes 
tempted to believe, that the benevole-nt or generous 
action which he relates, was either wholly fictitious, or 
performed for the express purpose of displa3^ing it to a 
friend in its fairest colouring. 

After the Latin had ceased to be a living language, 
many excellent collections of epistles were composed 
in it. The learned men of different nations, whose 
rude dialects would not repay the labour of cultivation, 
wisely chose to communicate their thoughts in the pure 



•EPISTOLARY COWTOSITION. 513 

lano-uage of the court of Augustus. Some of the earli- 
est of these collections are disgraced by the barbarism 
of the times. But Petrarch shines amidst the surround- 
ing obscurity. True genius, like his, could not but 
display its lustre, though it laboured under the disad- 
vantage of a prevailing corruption of taste. His La- 
tin style cannot be recommended as a model of purity-. 
Politian had also just pretensions to native genius. 
There is a vv^armth and vigour in his poetry, which ful- 
ly proves him to have possessed no common talents. 
His epistles are elegant, but, like those of Pliny, whom 
be imitated, they are often formal and affected. 

But among the modern epistolary writers, the first 
rank is to be assigned to Erasmus. His stile indeed 
is not purely Ciceronian, though it displays many of 
the graces of Cicero's manner. He was not so scrupu- 
lously exact in his taste, as to reject a barbarous and 
Gothic expression, if it conveyed his idea with preci- 
sion. But he had the skill to use it in such a way, that 
it acquired, in his writings, a grace and dignity. No 
man was better acquainted with the works of Cicero, 
and no man entertained a higher opinion of his beau- 
ties, or knew better how to imitate them. But he de- 
spised the sect of Ciceronians, who would scarcely ad- 
mit a particle which was not to be found in their fa- 
vourite author. In his dialogue entitled CiceronianuSy 
he has ridiculed them with admirable wit and eloquence ; 
nor would he countenance such affectation by any part 
of his writings. With all their defects in point of pu- 
.rity of language, his letters are uncommonly entertain- 
ing : they possess that spirit which genius can always 
exhibit, but which laborious dullness vainly imitates. 
Many of the epistles of Joseph Scaliger are extrenxe 



314- OBSERVATIONS ON 

ly curious ; and they perhaps serve to evince his asto- 
nishing capacity and erudition, as completely as the 
most elaborate of his productions. Those of Grotius, 
Vossius, and Casaubon, are very numerous and .varie- 
gated : they contain much valuable information ; par- 
ticularly with regard to the literary history of their own 
times. But these collections are less remarkable for the 
style than for the matter. 

I shall not Isere attempt to characteriz<^ a numerous 
class of epistolary writers w^ho possess little merit of 
their own, and who have derived all their fame from a 
servile imitation of Cicero. Paukis Manutius, one of 
these, is said to have spent a month ,in composing a 
single letter. We see indeed the consequence of this 
scrupulous attention, an elegant and truly Ciceronian 
phraseology ; but we observe none of the native graces 
of unaffected composition. 

The French have arrogated to themselves great merit 
as epistolary writers. Their genius and their language 
appear to be well adapted to this species of composi- 
tion. But some of the most celebrated writers among 
them have renounced the advantages which nature af- 
forded them, and have destroyed all the beauties of 
sentiment and vivacity, by an unseasonable profusion 
of wit. Balzac fatigues his reader with the constant 
recurrence of laboured ingenuity. 

Voiture abounds with beautiful thoughts, expressed 
with oreat elegance. In other writers the Language of 
compliment disgusts by its unmeaning sameness and 
formality. In him it has the grace of delicacy. But 
even he, though indisputably a fine writer, is justly 
censured by Bouhours, for thoughts which the critic 
calls false. 



EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 315 

The letters of Sevigne are now esteemed the most 
complete model of a familiar correspondence. Thej 
turn indeed very much upon trifles, the incidents of 
the day, and the news of the town ; and they are over- 
loaded with extravagant compliments, and expressions 
of fondness, to her favourite daughter : but at the same 
time they shew such perpetual sprightliness, they CQn- 
tain such easy and varied narration, and so many 
strokes of the most lively and beautiful painting pier^ 
fectly free from all affectation, that they are justly en- 
titled to high praise. 

The most distinguished collection of letters in the 
English language is that of Pope, Swift, and their 
friends. This collection is, on the whole, an enter- 
taining- and agreeable one; and contains much wit and 
refinement. It is not, however, free from the faults 
imputed to the epistles of Pliny ; it betrays too much 
study and labour. Yet we find not a few of these let- 
ters written with great ease and simplicity. Those of 
Arbuthnot, in particular, are entitled to the highest 
praise.* Swift's also are unaffected; they exhibit his 
character with all its defects. It were to be wished, 
for the honour of his memory, that his epistolary cor- 
respondence had not been drained to the dregs,, by so 
many successive publications as have been given .to the 
world. Several of the letters of Atterbury and Boling^ 
broke are written with a masterly hand. The censure 

• Arbuthnot was a man of great comprehension, skilful in his 
profession, versed in the sciences, acquainted with ancient literature, 
and able to animate his mass of knowledge by a bright and active 
imagination; a scholar with great brilliance of wit; a wit who, in 
the crowd of life, retained and discovered a nobler ardour of reli^ 
giouszeal.— JoHNsoN^s XJfeo/'Pope-, « 
P 



S\6 OBSERVATIONS OlS" 

of -writing In too artificial a manner falls heaviest upon 
Pope himself. There is visibly more of study, and less 
of nature and tl>e heart in his letters, than in those of 
most of his correspondents. 

It has been so long said as to be commonly believed j. 
that the true characters of men may be found in their 
letters, and that he who writes to his friend, lays his 
heart open before him. But the truth is, that such 
were the simple friendships of the Golden Age, and are 
now the friendships only of children. Very few can 
boast hearts which they dare lay open to themselves,^ 
and of which by whatever accident exposed, they do 
not shun a distinct and continued view: and certainly 
what we hide from ourselves, v/e do not shew to our 
friends. There is indeed no transaction which offers- 
stronger temptations to fallacy and sophistication than 
epistolary intercoui*se. In the eagerness of conversa. 
tion, the first emotions of the mind often burst out before 
they are considered ; in the tumult of business, inter- 
est and passion have their genuine effect ; but a friend- 
ly letter is a calm and deliberate performance, in the- 
cool of leisure, in the stillness of solitude ; and surely 
no man sits down to depreciate by design his own cha- 
racter. 

Friendship has no tendency to secure veracity in this 
ease ; for by whom can a man so earnestly wish to be 
thought better than he is, ashy him whose kindness he 
desires to gain or keep? Even in writing to the world 
there is less constraint: the author is not confronted 
with his reader, and takes his chance of approbation^ 
among the different dispositions of mankind ; but a let- 
ter is addressed to a single mind, of which the prejudi- 
ces and partialities are known ', and must therefore 



EPISTOLARY COMPOSITION. 317 

please, if not by favouring them, at least by forbearing^ 
to ex pose them. 

To change those favourable representations whicb 
men give of their own minds, M'ith the guiltof hypo- 
critical falsehood, would shew more severity than know- 
ledge. The writer commonly believes himself. Al- 
most every man's thoughts, while they are general^ 
are right j and most hearts are pure, while temptation 
is absent. It is easy to awaken generous sentiments in 
privacy ; to despise death when there is no danger ; to 
glow with benevolence when there is nothing to be 
given. While such ideas are formed, they are felt ; 
and self-love does not suspect the gleam of virtue to be 
a meteor of fancy. 

If Jthe letters of Pope are considered merely as com- 
positions, they seem to be premeditated and artificial. 
It is one thing to write because there is something 
which the mind wishes to discharge ; and another to 
solicit the imagination, because ceremony or vanity re- 
quires something to be written. He is too fond of wri- 
ting like a wit. His letters to ladies are full of affecta- 
tion. The swelling sentences w^hich he occasionally 
uses might be tolerated in a formal harangue ; but are 
very unsuitable to the style of one friend corresponding 
with another. 

It is evident that his own importance often swells in 
his mind. He is afraid of writing, lest the clerks of the 
post-office should know his secrets ; he has many ene- 
mies ; he considers himself as surrounded by universal 
jealousy. <* After many deaths, and many disper- 
sions,'* says he, '^ two or three of us may still be brought 
together, not to plot, but to divert ourselves, and the 
world too, if it pleases ;" and they can live together^ 



SIB OBSERVATIONS, &C. 

and *' shew what friends wits may be, in spite of all 
the fools in the world." All this while, it was likely 
that the clerks did not know his hand ; he certainly 
had no more enemies than a public character like his 
inevitably excites ; and with what degree of friendship 
the wits might live, very few were so much fools as 
ever to inquire. 

The letters of Lord Chesterfield have bisen highly 
praised. As compositions, they indeed possess much 
elegance : but they ought never to be put into the 
hands of youth, Avithout serious precautions against the 
tendency of that detestable system; of morality which 
they inculcate. No man has more closely imitated the 
French in every circumstance. Like them, he writes 
with perspicuity, vivacity, and that gracefulness which 
is sure to please, and which he so strenuously recom- 
mends. He is himself a proof of the efficacy of the 
graces ; for, with all his merit, he was certainly super- 
ficial, and yet obtained a degree of fame which more 
solid writers have seldom enjoyed. 

The letters of Lady M. W. Montague are not un- 
worthy of being classed with those of Sevigne. They 
have much of the French ease and vivacity ; and per- 
haps retain the character of an agreeable epistolary 
style, as completely as any collection of letters which 
has yet appeared in the English language. But in ge- 
nuine grace and elegance, they are surpassed by those 
of Gray, Cowper, andBeattie.* 

* Morhofii Polyhistor, torn. i. p. 270. Blair's Lectures on Rhe- 
toric and Belles Lettres, lect. xxxv?i. Aikin's Letters to his Son, 
vol. 1. let. vi. Knox's Essays, No. clxxi. Johnson's Life of Pope* 

^ FINIS. 

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